You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When I longingly look at size 0, double zero jeans,
Doll clothes, for dainty ******* princesses,
And shopping becomes the newest form
of cruel and unusual punishment,
It’s okay.
Girls like me are like that,
and
Fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When I skip a meal,
or two, or three,
Or live for a week on nothing but diet soda and apples,
I think nothing of it,
because
You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When my fingers go down my throat,
shredding skin with ragged nails,
And I obsessively rid myself
of every
single
particle
I am not sick.
There is nothing wrong.
Because
You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

You look at me, at my ******* and thunder thighs,
and stretch marks from head to toe,
in all my imperfection
and tell me
Fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.
Maybe.
But really,
This is just my polite way of suicide.

Vulnerable blue veins lurking beneath pale skin.
Longing, begging, pleading
to be opened,
to be spilled,
Lies and heartache released,
peace and silence gained.
Deeper, farther, less afraid,
one step closer
From temporary release
to eternal silence.

Trembling hands.
Shallow breaths.
Heartbeat.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud
Silence is so near,
So simple,
but so
permanent.

Ready,    
but hesitant.
Longing to go,
but needing to stay.
A constant internal war.
Do it.
I can’t
Stop it.
I won’t
End it.
no
No!
Never.

Exhale.
Fear seeps through,
slow at first, but then all at once.
Realization creeps through.
Horror dawns.
Disgust arrives.
Self hatred.
but
A glimmer of relief.
Breath.
Still here.
Heart.
Still beating.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Still
**Alive.