Soft and deep is this hostility
Slow and insidious the neglect
Hands roaming the body
Pinching and prodding
Easy curves to be abhorred.
A languid battle against
What is
And what they tell you it should be.
And society is a fickle beast
Ripe with comparisons,
Rich in condemnation,
With a collective mind that sways like a pendulum:
Who can ever be perfect?

It’s really just a special kind of hatred
to deny one’s own body
the divinity it deserves