i hate my waist.
you always called me fat.
as a joke, apparently.
yet you still traced your fingers over my curves
cutting invisible scars into soft unscathed flesh
am i pretty like this yet?
it started with playful pokes and jabs,
that was fine,
i think.
or maybe not,
i don’t know anymore.
so when did you start claiming a body that was never yours in the first place?
when did you permit your wandering fingers to grab at my curves?
why did you pinch and prod and caress and convince me that this was