Slipping into my pre-pandemic pants

I can’t look in the mirror anymore
because I don’t want to see myself.

My face is tired.
My eyes are weary and
my bags tell a sad story at 23.

My smile? Non-existent.
My cheeks are so round,
my arms feel heavy, and
my thighs jiggle
more than usual as
I try to slip into my
pre-pandemic pants.

I am a fraud.
I preach self-love, and I
tell others that look like me
that they are beautiful
and worthy of love.
I say weight does not
determine your worth.

However, as I look into the mirror,
I can’t stop the insults.
I can’t stop the self-hate.
I can’t stop the anger.

I hate me.