Poem #289

They told me I’m not okay.
My waist is so small that my collarbone is
wondering where my ribs went.
All imperfections have to be hidden
as well as my voice. Everything unique is irrelevant.

They told me I’m not okay.
I have replaced my bookshelf with
Instagram friendly interior design.
My hand is a selfie stick and I know
my angles know.

They told me I’m not okay.
Please stay. I am so very scared.
If we are together while our souls
are on sale maybe they’ll just take
half of each. Does it even matter anymore?
We can take pictures together but don’t
worry – we won’t talk behind closed doors.

They told me I’m not okay.
They never asked how I felt.

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