Pretty Chant

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My thighs are tree trunks, 
My ears hang words:
fat, ugly ; skinny, pretty. 
The dietitian in my head rips out what’s left of my hair. 
My breasts are made of
Hydroxycut and Alli 
My feet bear the icy metal of the weighing scale, 
Clank. Sob. 
My head is a judgmental storm, 
a nightmarish critic
that yaps away my insides until they come out. 
Press my tongue 
And in the toilet bowl appears  
Still and Ugly. 
Gag. Splosh. 
My throat is a drainage pipe. 
My mouth, my shameful regrets 
wet, chunky, sour 
I exhale my organs 
And inhale
the shrink’s office smell
Write my name down under ‘P’
because now I am 
perfectly
pretty.






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