I hate my body

They think the heaviest thing about me
is my body.

But it’s not.

It’s the way every glance feels measured,
every joke lands too sharp,
every comment stays in my head
long after the room goes quiet.

I already see myself every day.
I already notice every flaw before anyone else does.
So when the words come again and again,
they don’t motivate me
they just bruise me in places nobody can see.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most:
being treated like I’m a problem to fix
instead of a person trying to survive.

I wish people understood
that some battles are already exhausting
before anyone adds their voice to them.

I am trying.
Even when nobody notices it.
Even when I’m tired.
Even when I feel impossible to love.

And some days,
the weight in my chest
is heavier than the weight on my body.

I know I’m not perfect.
I know I’ve changed, and not always in ways I wanted.

But what hurts is that people think I’m not trying.
They don’t see the days I wanted to give up but didn’t.
They don’t see how exhausting life has been lately,
how hard it is to fight yourself while also fighting everything around you.

I’ve been trying to change.
Really trying.
But every time I start getting better, life hits me again before I can even breathe.

And after a while, you stop feeling lazy or weak
you just feel tired.
Tired of carrying pain people can’t see.
Tired of being judged while silently struggling.

I’m still trying though.
Even if it doesn’t look like enough to everyone else.