331: Store-Bought is Fine

She holds the store-bought smoothie

like an alcoholic holds a bottle,

cap discarded, not looking

while she sips — a motion

so ingrained

she could do it in her sleep.

She watches make-up tutorials

and weight-loss videos

when she doesn't mean to.

She didn't mean to buy the smoothie,

and she wraps herself around

the belly and soft arms

that are never there in mirrors,

but always in the photos

of summers at the beach.

She knows she should not feel

the shame that's crawling up her spine

whenever she slumps,

but she remembers chairs adjusted

to force her to sit straight,

and hates the way her body

bunches up along the shoulder blades

when she pulls her shoulders back and pinches.

Still, if she stands just right

and curls her tongue upwards

into the roof of her mouth,

she thinks she sees a body

that with the right attention

could be a desire, a pride

to wear to parties, a pleasure

that draws gazes

like a red-carpet parade:

A queen depicted in the magazines,

too thin to control her body's temperature,

muscles non-existing as she shivers

in the summer sun.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.