I'm so exhausted with

Waging wars against my body.

It is tiresome and old

And I never seem to run out of
Ammunition

Or leave myself a place to hide-

Or anything sacred and special
To fall into

When these fits of rage
And self loathing overtake me,

And I pick apart
My soft stomach
And my uneven skin
And my arms
And my thighs
And the too shrill sound of my
Voice.

And I wish I could raise
My
White
Flag

But I'm on both sides of this war...

And with every battle-

I lose myself
Over and over

More and more

Every day.