I am the abuser and the abused.
If this was a different sort of relationship
I would leave you.
I would let someone else count your calories and run your miles,
I would throw out your mirror and scale,
burn the numbers in your jeans
and finally be able to see me as me.
I am the abuser and the abused.
If this was a different sort of relationship
I would leave you.
I would find someone who could hold me
without pinching the skin of my thighs
and playing with the rolls of my stomach
and pointing out the dark bags under my eyes.
I am the abuser and the abused.
If this was a different sort of relationship
I would leave you.
Without you
maybe I would feel Beautiful.
Without you
maybe I would be Beautiful.
I am the abuser and the abused.
If this was a different sort of relationship,
I would leave you.
I would find someone who smiles
at my stretch marks,
who loves my hair and my arms and my pimples and my teeth and my fingertips and my brain
and my eyes and my words and my feet and my calves and my hips and and and and
I am the abuser and the abused.
If this was a different sort of relationship
I would leave you.