different

you know
i'm not that girl
i say.
but

i look in the mirror and i see her
the same one
same color, and size and thickness.

i trace myself with a black marker
adding lines
sags around the belly and the breasts.

twenty nine, i mouth
twenty nine,

i ask him, if he likes me, using words
that wiggle less
but fall just as thin and storebought onto his friday night
beers from the refrigerator lined wall
flip flops and checkered shorts.

i wouldn't be here he says
im looking at the mint green chipping away on my left hand
the right fingernails, a pale beige
holding fast.