but in the moment when my
sight lingers to the glass doors
behind them,
i see nothing but disgust.
in my double chin,
in my unthreaded eyebrows,
in my fat fingers.
in the sway of my heavy hips and
in the plumpness of my shapeless breasts.
because at the end of the day
we’re all trained to be mannequins,
with sheer pride in their air.
to wait for the moment when
someone comes by and stops
and takes a minute to stare.