pale trench
I saw her again this morning.
Standing there like she owns the glass.
Same face,
same body —
but she doesn't flinch.
She isn’t tugging at her shirt.
She isn’t sucking in her stomach.
She isn’t asking the world for space —
she’s already taken it.
I used to be her.
Or maybe she used to be me.
No, scratch that —
I was never her.
She eats.
Without checking the damage after.
Without scrolling through photos of thinner girls
just to punish herself.
She wore the dress.
The dress.
The one I shoved in the back of the closet
with every excuse I made for not being beautiful yet.
She didn’t ask permission to smile.
She just did.
Teeth and all.
Not caring if someone thought she looked “too much.”
And I hated her for it.
Because I used to beg mirrors
to lie a little kinder.
Because I used to survive on hunger
and the applause that came with it.
But she —
she just exists.
No apology.
No performance.
I watch her
and I want to break the glass.
Not because she’s ugly —
but because I can’t decide
if I want to be her
or destroy her.
She isn’t skinnier than me.
She isn’t softer.
She isn’t better.
She just doesn’t care.
And maybe that’s what I envy most.
That she’s done shrinking.
That she found peace in the same body
I declared war on.
That she doesn’t wait to be called enough.
She says it first.
random sable
fiery pebble