The day I fell out of love with my body—
my capsule,
my shrine—
weakness gnawed away at the palms of my hands,
dissatisfaction consumed my waist,
and comfort withered away like the skin I picked at
day
and night.

first; to detect a charlatan, check pulse.
             is it too fast? then it’s a fake.
                          body too fat? a fake.
                                         check body temperature. is the skin a frigid north pole, breakable like a stick?

I rub ice cubes on my face in the morning

when it is swollen from soy sauce

or bad dreams or no sleep. The water beneath

my skin is thick like jelly, yellow & responsive

to touch. I lose track of the bones. I want the