they don't get it, why i'm like this,
because i don't - there's no - i can't explain
the inexplicable.

i look at those pictures of emaciated
papergirls, with stick legs and
bitten lips and scarred wrists and
ribs like piano keys,

and i am not disgusted. everybody else says
ew - ew - crazy - why -

and i'm right beside them, lustful eyes,
wishing for sunken cheekbones
and a flat stomach. and most of all,
most of all - i don't know why this
is so important to me, but it's
all i've ever really wanted -

that gap between my thighs.