The number 20 is eating away at my livelihood.
Someone at the store today called me “full figured”.
They can’t pronounce full fisted.
My breast tissue is swelling.
My breast tissue is swelling,
but my stomach’s stayed the same.
I’m looking for cancerous lumps.
Tissue they can cut
so that my skin clings tight to my rib cage.
I become more apathetic as time goes on.
Time goes on
at a pace I can’t keep up with.
I turn 20 in 25 days.
25 is the number of times you can hear me mutter
under my breath
on any given day.