"Small Problems" by Anonymous
- Teen Writing
- Nov 9, 2025
- 1 min read
Seeing the dimpled thighs, where flesh seems to
become a woman. Fifteen years old but I still suck in my
breath to watch the crease of Levi's shimmy its way up
my hips. A belt as uncertain as its owner. It seems to tighten
around me, constricting me. Somewhere in the world or
history, my mother says, somebody would find me beautiful.
The cruel irony is that everything that I want is not here
in the room right now. What I love is the absence.
The space in photos where supermodels should have
stomachs. The hollows of their calves, the open sun-rooms
of their collarbones. I let go of my breath again.
It's not the only thing I've given up: calories, favorite foods,
that feeling of crawling into bed feeling safe at the end of
the night. In sleep, I get chased down a long hallway to
come back to the bathroom. The porcelain face of the
toilet looks like a mirror at certain angles. At certain angles,
I'd like to think I look like a mirror, too.
