freewrite, may 17

we try and cut down
on our hip inches,
try and whittle out a space
for light to peek through our thighs.

we will never get it right.

continue to cut out, to deprive,
to not slather with butter,
to keep our belly-wolves growling.

my cat laps up rubber bands
with sandpaper kisses,
fills his stomach with a nest
where no birds will roost.

I stand in front of the mirror to pinch,
to see what could be gone.