She stacks her jeans
In vertical shelves
As if filing paperwork,
Drawing them out
By size,
As if she’s never sure
Which will fit her today,
Admitting her obsession
With being overweight
When she rarely is,
Perception being the core
Of reality,
What she seen in the mirror,
Which may or may not
Really be there,
And me, seated
A few feet away,
Amazed at how
Organized she is,
All of our lives
Regulated by rituals
Like these,
Which size fits us
On this day,
When in reality
She barely changes,
While I always wear
The same size,
Too snug,
Too much the same way
Day in and day out
I envy her.
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