The most unsettling thing about this speaker is how reasonable the voice sounds. Nothing here is shouted or dramatised. Someone looks in a mirror, allows a flicker of pleasure, takes it back, and then sketches a tidy plan for losing more weight. Judging by the content, the speaker is caught in disordered thinking about food and body. The poem's central idea is that this kind of thinking rarely announces itself as a problem. It presents itself as sensible management, with a goal that always moves just out of reach.
The opening line gives the speaker one small, fragile compliment: "in moments like this i realise how pretty my body actually is". The phrase "in moments like this" suggests such moments are rare, and the beauty is tied at once to arithmetic: "how much weight i actually lost". Look at the small insisting words. "Actually" appears three times in a few lines, and "really" once. People tend to reach for these words when they are not sure they are believed, even by themselves. The speaker keeps promising the truth and never quite owns it.
Then comes the poem's sharpest turn: "or is that just the mirror trying to trick me again". There is no question mark, so the doubt arrives flat and tired, and "again" hints at a habit of being let down by reflections. The mirror becomes a trickster, and the pleasing image is declared false: "but thats not true". What stands out is that the doubt is selective. The speaker will not trust the mirror when it says "pretty", yet trusts without question the claim that it is "only a few more kilos". The comforting image is an illusion, while the demanding one is simply fact.
From here the language shrinks everything. The remaining task is "only" a few kilos, the road is "a short one", the method is "a bit fasting here / and drinking water there". "Journey" is a borrowed word, softer and more hopeful than the thing it describes, and it sits oddly beside "short". The speaker promises "then im going to stop", but never says where stopping would be. "A few more kilos" has no number, and a target with no number cannot be reached. The promise has the shape of an ending without ever naming one.
The form supports this. There is no rhyme, no punctuation and no capital letters, and the apostrophes are dropped ("im", "thats", "its"). The poem reads like a thought typed out as it forms, which fits the unfiltered style of informal online writing, though that is only an inference from the look of the text. Without full stops, the thoughts slide into one another, which is ironic in a poem that keeps promising to stop. The lines start long and chatty, then shorten toward the close. In the last three, the pairing of "here" and "there" and the repeated "and" give a light, almost sing-song rhythm, like a to-do list. Something harmful is made to sound like a domestic errand. "And its done" sounds final, but with no full stop after it, nothing is actually closed.
The title adds another layer. «du verschwendest deine zeit 21» is German for "you are wasting your time", followed by a number the poem never explains. The title could be an outside voice, a warning, or the speaker's own self-reproach. The text does not say, and the German sitting above English lines makes the poem feel like it contains two voices that do not quite meet. Nothing reliable is known here about the writer beyond the name attached to the poem, so it is best to let the text speak for itself.
What makes the poem significant is its restraint. It does not describe suffering directly. It lets the speaker's own logic expose the cracks: praise withdrawn as soon as it is given, doubt aimed in only one direction, a "stop" that keeps receding. A reader is invited to see what the speaker cannot. In that sense the poem is not a recommendation but a portrait of a mind talking itself into one more step, and it shows how convincing such talk can sound from the inside.