In the mirror, I gaze, a face that is not my own,
A visage of a monster, chilling to the bone.
What defines a monster, but our own perception anyway?
If they were the epitome of beauty, we’d see them in that way.

I was too tired to cook last night. I felt like falling asleep.
I drank coffee for lunch because homework couldn’t stop piling up.
My mind forgets the battles won, the dragons slayed.
All the blood, sweat and tears I had to push through to get to this point.

Pinch the bridge of my nose—
is it wrong,
too wide,
too flat?
Prepare your rust-covered tools,
bite into my bone,
smooth like your dream ski slope.
Whittle me down
to a shape that’s not my own.

The day I fell out of love with my body—

my capsule,

my shrine—

weakness gnawed away at the palms of my hands,

dissatisfaction consumed my waist,

and comfort withered away like the skin I picked at

day

and night.

first; to detect a charlatan, check pulse.

             is it too fast? then it’s a fake.

                          body too fat? a fake.

I rub ice cubes on my face in the morning

when it is swollen from soy sauce

or bad dreams or no sleep. The water beneath

my skin is thick like jelly, yellow & responsive

to touch. I lose track of the bones. I want the