You are so beautiful
says the graffiti in the bathroom stall
as I expel the Indian buffet lunch
in an explosive manner.

I feel bloated.
I feel grumbly.
I feel weak
and stupid for eating so much
and dumb, for
I cannot explain why I do this to myself
with such retarded frequency.

I want to feel beautiful
but that’s a feeling
that feels so very far away.
If I had a pen on me
I would respond to the writing on the wall
telling those words just what’s what.
I am not beautiful today;
I feel like shit.