Weight? Less.

I wonder if he knows
the way I drag breath in out
to the rhythm of his footsteps,
in bizarre rituals to attract maybe luck;
Or the next best thing.

But do they notice when
I sit, the thought that goes into
who can see. The thought that goes into
ignoring it. Self control fit
for fighting with.

The marks, there are always
scratches. There are always
open wounds to pick at and there
are always scars to hate at,
where’s the good in that.

Where’s the bad in fat?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s