# body checking— a poem by zoe frenchman

**Published by:** [105593.eth](https://paragraph.com/@105593/)
**Published on:** 2022-08-03
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@105593/body-checking-a-poem-by-zoe-frenchman

## Content

i stare at myself, and i stare and i stare, and i exceedingly care; when i stare and i stare, it’s a strange nightmare; i stare and i stare and i can identify some flaw on my body or my face in everything that i wear; i stare and i stare and i care too much and it’s not fair; it’s not fair that i was cursed with this debilitating illness that is utterly treacherous to bear; sometimes i feel as if my ailments are beyond repair; i nitpick every blemish, imperfection, and scar; and the cognitive distortions enhance each one by far; and each fictitious malformation is equally bizarre; sometimes the constant fixation of my flaws; and these absurdly false deformities, are the cause; of my emotional outbursts and episodes of doubt; sometimes my insecurities deter me from merely going out; i cant go out, because the mascara is smudged around my face; i cry an awful lot, but in this case; i was so unstable and weak that i couldn’t help but weep; sometimes i wish i wouldn’t fall in so deep; deep into the pit of darkness, self-criticism, and fear; sometimes i wish everything wasn’t so painfully severe; i stare at my thighs, and i think they’re too thick; i stare at my face and each pimple or blemish makes me sick; i stare at my hair and it’s too frizzy, too wild, there’s too many baby hairs, it’s this, it’s that, and i nitpick; my mind truly races so quick; i stare at my stomach— it’s too stubby, it’s too large, it’s not flat enough, i look bloated, i should skip yet another meal today to compensate for my perception of my torso, yeah, that should do the trick; i stare at my body to the point deliberate restriction; and what i find to be sad; and this is crucial to add; is that the rational part of me is aware that the irrational part of me creates all of these excruciating ideas in my brain which are undoubtedly fiction; not to mention the constant friction; within myself and this relentless internal contradiction; i hope and i pray that i get to see the day; that this pain will at least begin to fade away; the day that i don’t worry how many calories i ate each day; the day that i don’t stare at myself with the upmost disgust; the day that i begin to trust; and that trust must begin within my own mind; i hope i see the day that i can remotely unwind; i hope i see the day that i can abolish the brutal memories of all the times that i have self-maligned; most importantly, i hope i have the pleasure of absorbing the day; that i can let go of the need for perfection, and i can accept myself, be as it may; i’ve always had this desire to be “pretty”; but i think i’ve really just wished to ensure that i’m skinny—without any pity; i guess i would rather always feel excessively shitty; than take a step back and process my life; process certain methods in avoiding both internal and external strife; i’ve been self-destructive for as long as i can recall; but my most prominent self-destructive behavior of all; is the overall betrayal of my own body as whole; as i have neglected to care for it, and when i was in pain, and i was hurt in my soul; i damaged it, and now the damage is out of much of my control.

## Publication Information

- [105593.eth](https://paragraph.com/@105593/): Publication homepage
- [All Posts](https://paragraph.com/@105593/): More posts from this publication
- [RSS Feed](https://api.paragraph.com/blogs/rss/@105593): Subscribe to updates