My Body

I have difficulties with my body. Between my autism, my cult upbringing, and  body dysmorphia, I don’t just struggle to like my body. I have trouble believing that it’s really mine. The following poem is questions I have to ask my body. 

Are you still there limbs? I can’t hear you. 

Are these my hands? Are you sure? 

Why are there writhing snakes in my bowels, and what do you mean those are my bowels? 

Is this hair that tickles me really mine? 

Why am I hungry? I ate yesterday. I have to do it again?!

Am I fat or thin? Your guess is better than mine. 

Is this hunger, nausea, or acid reflux? I can’t tell them apart. 

Are these cramps caused by digestion or menstruation? 

Why am I crying? Do I hurt? 

How can I divide physical and mental health when my brain is made of matter? 

Am I taking care of you? Are you me? 

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