the mirror is my home and what an abusive home it can be.
eyes scoring my body, head to feet.
my mind is the judge that no flaw escapes,
no more cookies, no more cakes,
no nothing for you,
not until your skin is tight enough to see through.
no calories, no carbohydrates,
stand stiff until your spine breaks.
'Oh look how skinny you are!"
others cry in awe.
no, i'm not skinny. i just find every flaw,
they try to hide in the skin of my thighs
but i always find them, drunk on lies,
i know where they hide,
they can't escape my ever searching eyes,
i poke, prod, and pinch, stick my head up with pins,
'hold your head high! it will make you confident!' they say,
i do, i try, i just don't want the room to spin and my legs to sway after forgetting to eat for an entire day,
but the mirror is my home, and abusive one at that,
some flaws can only be rid of when one learns to love the healthy fat.
stay safe, take care of yourself, remember to eat a little something and drink some water, and have a wonderful night.
I look at myself and don't like what I see. My disgusting body stares back at me.
I try different things to make me a little thinner. Like purging myself or skipping my dinner.
The voice inside my head tells me I'll never be beautiful unless I'm thin,
so I start counting calories until I feel attractive in my own skin.
Every food I eat is no longer tasteful. It's just more calories entering my body and makes me feel shameful.
I hope to someday to be the thin girl hiding underneath my fat. The girl that can touch her stomach and it would be flat.
An incongruous time to be alive in 1985
Live Aid and all it's worthy charity
in an era of gratuitous greed
Reagan, Thatcher and all their vulgarity
Me? I was 18, mullet haired and stupid
I spent most of each day not giving a toss
ducking and diving, plotting and scheming
finding new ways to wind up my boss
A college drop out toiling in warehouse work
my intelligence trumped by underachievement
carefree and naive but healthy and skinny
a little narcissistic if I'd known what that meant
12 months of big hair and bigger shoulder pads
and yes I am still talking about me
my pipe cleaner legs sporting stonewashed jeans
even then the fashion was holes in the knee
I was single by choice and necessity
no female looked twice at my spindly frame
life was grand though, at least in my head
entrenched memories still ignite a flickering flame
We live by the words "be perfect don't fail"
About us we should see what that reveals
We obsess over numbers on a scale
Expectations are set by these ideals
When did portion sizes become so small
It's hard to think of but needs to be said
Put my health first vs. do I care at all
A constant battle inside of my head
Strength and will-power silence the voices
My body shaming can finally stop
Pushing myself to make the right choices
In this battle I will come out on top
Because the exact moment I give in
I'm choosing to let society win
I am obsessed with becoming a woman who is comfortable in her own skin, I don't want to hate myself anymore
I will keep drinking zero calorie sparkling water and doing sit ups until my stomach aches and smiling through the painful runs
because damn it
its going to be worth it
I don't need the dinner roll
I don't need the candy
I just need to be proud of my body.
I am on a journey to being healthy, and it may be a little bit twisted but it will end good, I just know it.
I grew up doing ballet. I was one of the thinnest, most flexible, and dedicated ones at my dance studio. I got solo’s, and usually pretty main parts in the shows. I wore a flat tutu for most parts.
Fast forward, I graduated high school and received a dance/academic scholarship to a university.
Let’s just say that I gained the freshman 15, more like 25 actually. I hated myself. Absolutely hated everything about myself. It spiraled into a dark depression, I had been depressed before..but not like this. I couldn’t get out of it.
The summer before sophomore year (this year) I decided that I didn’t give a shit. I gained more weight and hated myself more. I ended up attempting suicide stuck in the hospital for a week.
Three weeks after I was released from the hospital I came back to the university.
I am on the dance company, fat as ever. Dance is what keeps me going most days.
Today I had to watch two girls on my company, who weren’t formally trained in ballet, get to try on their tutu’s for the show.
I wasn’t picked for the part, because I am too heavy to partner with.
I almost started to cry.
Because that could be me wearing that tutu if I got my fat ass in shape and lost some weight.
So I am losing weight for ballet.
Maybe it’s not healthy, maybe it is stupid. But I will become a better version of myself no matter what it takes.
Just you wait and see.
Small waist, thick thighs...
But I'm stuck with just having; nice eyes.
Long hair perfect skin.
I'm here trying to just get thin.
Society praises the perfect woman.
Although they only exist in magazines.
We Photoshop, nip, tuck, and torture our bodies.
Because we are objects boys just want to fuck.
I want to change this stereo type of what a woman is.
We are not objects here because guys cant just use there dicks to take a wiz.
When we act with in the lines of society it changes our morals.
We act immorally because that's what they expect.
Guys face stereo types as well but are told to ignore them.
As girls we are told to embrace them.
How can we not with main stream celebrities flaunting there bodies.
Tall, short, skinny thick.
There's more than one model so just take that in.
Bitten nails, long hair.
The stereo types of perfection are not fair.
Girls mutilate to be perfect...I think its time we stand up and care.
We come in many shapes and sizes...so why do we make one mold?
We need to embrace the differences because if were all the same.
Don't you think it might; get old?
Like a teenage boy.
Practically A prepubescent adolescent
out to late, with limited restraint
trying to cop a feel,
attempting to achieve an unreal ideal.
Im not sure if i'll ever succeed and complete my masterpiece
Before it is lost to the terra-cotta floor.
Like my mind,
lost to amphetamine.
Like my sex appeal.
Just a mandala memento of strange LSD daydreams,
From back in Hawaii when I was eighteen.
I am a mer twenty, and stressed by the precent
attempting to be more than an empty brunette beauty.
Bewildered by his words and left splintered,
In a dark world, void of a vice in paradise.
Wanderer, wonderer, you’re lost evermore.
Far to awkward to adore.
I'm all around 5'7 and 98 to 105 lb on a good day.
Sounds great if you wanna be castaway
By people who don't understand first hand
And demanded you to eat to gain some meat.
Although the ladies, who aren't jealous of my boney pelvis,
Say I'm paragon in every which way, a totally dime.
But to the fellas I'm hella undeveloped.
A kyphotic crescent moon that keeps getting slimmer.
But the truth is
they wouldn't have fulfilled her either.
I am the luciferous prosperity of celtic kings.
An authentic relict of a noble bloodline
Twinkling, as lore to an all distant past.
a la belle étoile
'Under the beautiful star'; in the open air at night.
An eclectic aesthetic
Living in perpetual summer sublime,
Who could have dreamt, there was such a thing.
they show you everything you've always wanted:
a trim waist, a thigh gap, perhaps.
how odd -
they must've forgotten to put in
the empty stomachs containing
nothing but yesterday's fingernails.
it must've slipped their minds to publish the
or the protruding bones,
or the skeletal ribcages.
i wonder what photoshop they use
to airbrush away
the harsh angles of needle-thin bones
and the spidery veins pulsing faintly beneath translucent skin
and the "no thanks, i already ate,"
and the "i'm fine, i swear."
it's almost funny -
i can't even tell when i'm hungry or not anymore.
almost funny, that is.