"PERFECT"

 The contortions of my body as I twist and shape it into the perfect version of itself. Cracking and splitting into unnatural uncanny proportions. Cutting away skin and flash trying to regain the youthfulness it once held. Nevertheless, it's all for naught. it's never enough, I will never be Like a dove flouting about on a spring day or the first bloom of roses in spring again. I long for the days when my looks didn't matter when I was seen as a human and not an object, when I was loved for me and not my body, when my heart was still shiny and new. But atleast now I'm "perfect". right?