You used to tell me you loved everything about me.
Don’t change a thing.
Don’t change a thing about the way you dress.
Don’t change a thing about the way you are.
Now he pokes and prods me.
Telling me to change everything about myself.
You should be skinnier. You’re too this. Too that. Poke. Prod. This is still too much fat.
What will even be left of me?