Unmatched and outmarched
we, prisoners of the healers
strive for perfection in a body

stepping on the scale,
peering into mirrors for uncomfortable
amounts of time
  is the first mistake.

   Cheers, to our life long duty-
we toast,
     blankly and blindly
not hearing the chink of the glasses
not feeling red currents of fermented
       grape juice irrigating our throats.

Instead, in our mind’s eyes
we wink to one another;
    Women terrified of the truth.