these ships

are you the sort of woman
who wears make up when you sleep?
does the sight of lipstick on his collar
make you want to weep?
did you realise he was just
another boring metaphor
when he shouted you are perfect
and whispered for a whore...?

is his beauty really wonderful
or carved trouble deep?
did you notice when he said
i do not want you 'till you're cheap
did you think he wouldn't look at you
until he saw your ribs?
did you think perhaps he'd love you
if you tried to shrink your hips?

when he smiles does it hurt
because he paralysed your lips?
will it ruin his career
if you choose to sink these ships?
when you slip your fingers down your throat
do you think of him?
did he let you tell yourself
that nothing tastes as good

as being thin?

i wish i wish

i wish

someone would show me how to kill my darlings

one day

one day i am going to keep a tally on one arm of how often i have a silly thought about death and a tally on the other of how often i think about my appearence and i shall report back with numbers, and then get a real hobby and maybe a grip.

death

can
halt
disorder

perhaps no women

is happy with herself inside and out.

and

perhaps most women

would rather be big and satisfied rather than small and insecure.