Twenty-Seven: Three Digit Number (Poem)

Twenty-Seven

Three digit number,
You haunt every being of my presence.
You suffocate me with harsh words.
If I try to silence you,
You begin to yell in my ear
but others can’t even hear a whisper.
You’re taking away my sanity
and molding me into ugly sins:
Sloth – Gluttony – Envy
Take the excuse with the best fit
but I try, three digit number
To get rid of you, I try.
Sometimes, my body begins to tremble
and I think “This is it, isn’t it?”
I think you have defeated me.
You’ve swollen me to the point of bursting
As I implode into myself,
but yet I still awake. You still torture me, three digit number.
“You have the curves of a woman,” they say.
They say but they are not sincere.
“You look so much healthier now,”
A synonym for my enlarged waist.
The words of my dearest friends mirrors my thoughts.
I do not have curves – I have mountains.
I am not healthy – I’m round.
Three digit number, I wish you’d burn
Burn like I want my body to.
Give me that honor, please.

If you don’t three digit number,
I’m afraid I’ll waste away.

I miss you guys so much!