• Creative Writing

    Inside a Body

    This flesh, they tell me that it’s mine. They point to me and spell out those words, their mouths forming long O’s and wide A’s. This flesh, if I tug at it, if I carve into it, if I dispose of it, will never escape me. It will grow with me, grow on me and spore. If I choose not to love it, they will not take it away. … I am addicted to this body and it is addicted to me. … “Bulimia doesn’t work,” she says, shrugs, then reaches over to dip a fry in the cup of ketchup between us. She dunks it, pushing it down so…