Too imperfect to be;

My mirrored disfigured body is all I see.

Trials of error have brought me down,

But no longer will accept that frown.

I’ll bite the hand that feeds me,

So that maybe it’ll let me starve.

I yearn for simply beauty serenity—

Food is my only enemy.

I’ll suffer and hurt, that’s fine.

Maybe then love will finally be mine.