I am dough, kneaded on the counter before it goes in the oven to be baked into some puffy, round delicacy that will be gobbled up. Warm in someone's fingertips, no one is expecting much beauty. It folds and folds, making me sick when I think about the excess. The chemistry of baking is more predictable than our bodies ever will be. It's okay, since we'll sit here and wait for everything to boil over, pounds to pack on and batter rising over the edges of the pan. I never wanted to spill out like this, but it is a different feeling for everyone. It doesn't come at once, but no one knows when the timer will go off.
I hope you enjoyed this piece! Like everyone, I have my insecurities about my body, but a lot of new ones have popped up ever quarantine/springtime since I haven’t had as rigorous of a workout schedule. I know bodies change as we grow up, and that’s something I wanted to address in this poem. Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.
Brooke
adventures of a typical high school student 