How pathetic is it
I think over black coffee taken alone
That I belong to perhaps the only sub-culture
Of the Homo Sapiens species
That begins to cry when I catch a glimpse of my sun-tanned chest in the car mirror
Because my collarbones no longer protrude like some injured wing of a broken songbird
But are now hidden, more soft, the angularity more subtle under a layer of cushy flesh
Why is it that I find magnificence in the sharp lines of the combination of collagen and calcium
Which very protrusion I find sickening on the stray mutts that wander the street
How repulsive is it
That I find strength in what nature intends as a symbol of human weakness
Emily Wolst is an undergraduate English student at Lakehead University in Orillia, Ontario. She enjoys writing poetry and short creative fiction pieces. Her work has appeared in several local newspapers. She works part-time in a public library and spends her spare time reading both fiction and non-fiction and drinking hot coffee.