“It is an awful thing to be betrayed by your body. And it’s lonely, because you feel you can’t talk about it. You feel it’s something between you and the body.” -David Levithan

woman sitting on black surface inside room

I found a cushion laying on the floor; squishy and round,
it looked horrendous just sitting there —gaudy, plump, and worn-out.
How long has it been since I’ve last seen it? Two…three… four years ago.
It appeared out of nowhere and without a second thought; I cut a tiny hole on its side,
Dug through it with my fingers, slowly taking out its fluff.

Not sure why, it’s almost satisfying yet it wasn’t enough. Now a routine,
Whenever I’d see the cushion in front of me;
A habit, so time-consuming. Sit and stay, then I start poking and prying.
Tugging and stretching out the stitches, until its softness deflates,
And all that’s left is leathery, tight, polished skin.

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