Body of Work

What is a body but flesh and bone given life.

Muscles and tissue bound together in a vast network.

A thing to fear and hate and be ashamed of.

Beneath the gaze of the scorching sun, a prison looms.

I am the prison.

I am the inmate carrying out a life sentence.

I am made of regrets and broken spirits.

I hate the skin I’m in.

It is a minefield of marks and scars.

It itches and burns.

It is an island in a sea of white.

I hate what I see in the mirror.

Cracks in the glass,