E
we can see

thus we know it's there
and we feel safe

it's what we can't
discern
what is blurry

we fear
because we don't
understand

are you with me so far
good

because
from here on out
it gets kind of wiggy

if a tree falls in the forest
and no one's around

how big was the ax
that the woodsman used
to chop it down

Whit Howland © 2020

Although we can’t be together in this
Life,
we’ll be together in the next
I lay next to a desk
With your picture of you,  
I have a knife,
On my chest,
Waiting for what’s next,
I’ll meet you on
The flip side,
My love.

You know exactly what you’re doing
Not eating enough
Letting yourself stay hungry
It’s a punishment
Without scars
Without blood
But it hurts
And the more you do it
The more they’ll like you

I feel pretty when I’m hungry
Like maybe my stomach will begin to slim
Like I’m dainty and beautiful
Like maybe if I can keep it up long enough
Someone might want me

he said he couldn’t breathe,
so they took his last breath

you don't get me
+
I don't get you

A willing captive
gripped tight by her eyes,
steely, grey
and sparkling bright
in love
I watch her talk,
a loquacious fluence,
and study her lips like
a foreign language

your attention is slipping.

not at all.

well, she said
haven't you ever been in love?

I must have been
surely, I think
or something more akin
to time standing still,
the sands sculpting a moment
of a thousand lifetimes.

of course I have.

where is your love now?

right here, I think
chronic and immutable,
boxed into lines,
safeguarded and sound
in dreams and reflections,
vicarious,
a farce of mimicry.

well travelled,
I would say.

like blood from a stone.
well, she said
I'm glad you came,
will you come again?

and she went,
leaving me
with a pocketful of sand.

of course I will.

it's so tiring,
this back and forth in my brain.

i want to be better.
i want to be content
just as i am.
i want to be able to exhale,
relax
and shut out the voices that tell me otherwise.
but they overpower me.

"my stomach looks good today",
"my legs aren't huge",
"i'm not ugly",
i try to say as my hands tell a different story.
grabbing at fat and skin,
trying to find any imperfection to prove me wrong.
and this is where the confusion starts:
looking in the mirror.

what do i look like?
how should i feel?
am i actually fat?
am i deluded to think i might not be?
i have no idea the answer to any of those questions
and millions just like them scream at me.
every minute.
every day.

if i am fat,
should i be trying to lose weight?
or should i try to accept how i look?

i try to be better,
to cope,
but i don't know which voice is right.
i don't know who to listen to.
and i'm trapped in this in between.

it's ******* exhausting so someone just tell me what to do