at least they’re beautiful

at least they’re beautiful 
By Lauren Dias 

i run my hands down my body the ridges of my ribs meeting my fingers my chest feels empty, flat 
how do i make it better? 
my sullen reflection answers me 
i want to fit into clothes 
the way they do 
i want my hips to be full 
if i could,
i would take a cookie cutter 
and shape myself out of dough 
the food inside me feels forbidden i want to turn myself inside out i want to shrink the way my sweaters do when i put them in the dryer 
the women from the magazines visit me they sit together and say that
what they insert into their body isn’t satisfying 
they aren’t thriving