When I was young, I did not know that life
is a never ending cycle of carrying clothes
on the sofa to the bed, and back.
I did not know dirty bowls accumulate endlessly, and
nights can stretch long and thin,
too fragile for sleep to touch.
When I look at my body in the mirror
I no longer see myself, but a container
I no longer see and judge my thighs,
my belly fat, my arms and my butt,
but the container that I'm getting comfortable with
Meanwhile, I'm calling
and searching for hunger
I cannot find hunger
I seem to have lost hunger
I open my diary
and find a graveyard of identities
I turn on the shower head
and a thousand running thoughts gush out
Everyday I spit out a piece of me
swirl & swish, rinse, repeat