As I looked down at the near-full perfume bottles,
Shoes I haven’t worn since high school,
Shirts that stopped fitting ten pounds ago,
And dozens of pairs of panties, socks, and ripped hosiery,
I realized why I can’t stop buying things—I don’t like myself very much.
Paying for color analyses,
Scouring the internet for body type quizzes,
and scrolling through social media for the newest trend,
I keep trying to change bodies.
I tried to be sexier with smaller triangles, thinner thongs, higher legs—
Until I read effortless is better
And opted for wider backs in white, black, and gray.
And when the clothes don’t work,
or lay crumbled in the hamper after a sweaty walk to class,
I try to change my skin.
Florals, gourmands, and spices adorn the back
Of my neck, knees, and wrists—
Uplifting me to a higher state of confidence.
Until I’m sitting at my desk,
The aroma of red currant and roses wafting off the underside of my scalp
And I can’t help but think,
You’re trying too hard.
When the shoes start to hurt my feet,
and the seams become too scratchy against my skin,
and the scent overwhelms my senses,
I put it all in a box and start over.
Time to check my balance.
