Beauty Hath No Pain

Slowly

I savour

Every mouthful,

Every crunch,

Every burst of sweet liquid

From the crisp leaves.

It sours in my mouth

As I chew each bite exactly

Eighty times.

I burn more that way.

The pain in my abdomen

Urges me,

Tempts me,

Tests me,

But I resist

For I am strong.

It soon gives up.

As I slouch,

Exhale,

The rolls disgust me.

They bulge like sagging warts,

Unnatural, relentless appendages

Which never go away,

I wish I could tear them off.

Perhaps I'll try...

I rise to leave the table.

My muscles, though

Well-worked,

Rebel against my commands.

I feel the evidence of my consumption

In the pit of my stomach.

The very thought of the

Grotesque process:

The tearing,

Grinding,

Salivation,

Contractions of muscles to force it down

To where it will further disintegrate

In an acid strong enough to burn through metal;

It is repulsive.

I am clean.

It is difficult to live a clean life, but

The results

Are exhilarating.

They are triumph.

They are serenity.

They are strength.

I rest my hands on my hips,

The protruding curves

Of an almost-beautiful body.

But beauty is a race.

I am almost there,

To meet the others

In the winners' circle.

There, they are happy.

They are successful.

They are free.

I am far behind the beautiful

But I am 

Almost there.

I know I can make it.

I must try harder.

I must have more

Self-control.

I must not fail.

Failure is

Unacceptable.

I will do not what I can,

But what I must.

I will do what it takes.

I will carry on,

For I am

Strong.

I will make it to the winners' circle.

Beauty hath no pain.