My body isn’t truly part of me.

I see it as an entire separate entity.

An unholy presence that has latched onto me.

Causing me so much pain and despair

Nothing about it is correct.

Every inch of skin has a certain marking or shape that I despise.

I look around to see a crowd of other figures. All perfect. All desired.

But mine. Mine is disgusting.

I don’t even want to look or touch it. Let alone another being.

If I could communicate with God and request a perfect body instead of a perfect soul....I would.

The suffocating sense of embarrassment I feel whenever another’s eyes gaze at my form. They don’t need to speak. I can smell their disapproval. 

I must ease the anxiety that I am currently carrying. So I start consuming. Not stopping until my stomach is wrapped with the tightness of guilt.

Then I instinctively commute to the bathroom. Lock the door. Pick up the toothbrush. Turn on the tap.