Becoming Small.

I wake up every morning

In the haze of lingering dreams

In which I am perfect.

Angelic.

Free.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes

And lumber groggily

Until I come face to face

With my worst enemy: the mirror.

Too much here, and there, and there.

Find my bones,

Step on the scale.

No food today.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Imagery in words .. and such a sad ending. That enemy needs face turned to wall but your poetry should be read.