Light

The light in the room

Hugs the floor

gratefully.

She touches and kissed the world

from wall to wall when I

turn on the switch.

There are places she'll miss.

The light ignores the gap between my thighs

and the glossiness of my eyes.

She shivers at my sides

that ever so slightly 

fall out of my jeans.

She pretends to ignore the roundness of my face

the fat on my collar bones

and the pudge of my hands

as I type out a poem

about hating my body. And I thank her for hiding my bad parts.

My insecurities that I starve  strive to get rid of.

So may the light switch,

all powerful and all knowing as it is,

stay off.