I’m afraid of being full

I don’t want my body to be satisfied

The implications of that are far too heavy

A woman cannot feel or be enough

Most don’t even know what that means

And so to quell my hunger is wrong

I’m much better at running on empty

Much more comfortable pushing through the pain

To be sated is an impossible standard

One placed far too out of reach to be attainable

And so I sit, starved, waiting for a moment of fullness that will never come