By Tyanni Gomez
I love eating.
Except onions. Disgusting.
I eat. And eat. And eat. I eat when I’m bored. I eat when I’m tired. I eat on the couch. I eat on my bed. I eat in the car, oh wait it’s too far. No Panda Express? Chick-fil-a? No I got-
No. No. No.
Relax, I need to stop.
I look in the mirror and it’s filled with terror
I slouch looking down. I look at my tummy and it’s not so yummy.
I see a muffin top. I wish I could pop. Too bad it’s a shame maybe don’t wear a crop top?
I look at the window. No people in sight. Quarantine gotten too chill. Even my neighbor Bill isn’t thrilled.
I eat. I eat. And eat. I get sad. I look at my body and I’m not thrilled like Bill. I stress wearing a dress. I want to slouch in a pouch and never come out. I’m tired of the comments they launch like rockets. To my mind, my tummy can lead to so much anxiety and I just want it to STOP.
I stop eating…
Oh look…my mom made banana bread.
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