I hate my body
I resent all of its demands from me
I am disgusted with all the noises it makes without my permission.
(I hate this poem)
(I hate that) I hate my body.
I resent the power my body has over me. I hate that if I don’t eat for 6 hours, I can’t think
I hate the feeling of thirst. It’s so distracting
I hate having to spend so many of my waking hours feeding and watering the greedy gullet of the flesh I inhabit.
As long as I can remember, I have felt uncomfortable in my body–like I’m just borrowing it;
Maybe I’ll get my own back later…?
I am very grateful for my body!
My body and I go way back.
In the past, it has taken my abuse and loyally continued to serve me.
(Is it OK that I also hate it?)
I hate having to spend many hours every week taking long, deep, greedy breaths,
drooling on a cotton sack full of feathers, fluff, or polyester stuff.
I hate that my hair gets oily when I don’t wash it.
I hate any form of human waste, except maybe carbon dioxide–
as plants can use it.
I hate having chronic neck pain
I hate having a menstrual cycle
I hate sunburns, sweaty socks and spit;
I hate bad breath, acne, or any brand of shit.
My favorite body parts are jewelry and nail polish.
I’m think my body hate
is a little like some other stuff I have:
it can’t be removed, without killing the whole organism.
Anybody is probably better than mine
Anybody is less inherently hateable if I don’t have to live in it
I don’t hate your body
I hope you don’t hate it