Palms of your hands brushed against,
Your cheeks, standing in front of the fridge,
Breaking all ten bones, cause you stand on tip,
Toes, to avoid the conversation, of his judgemental eyes, so you jam tooth brushes,
Down your throat, to throw up the guilt,
You skip meals, & stay in your room, to practice "discipline" writing horrible words, across your,
Skin, being in the same room with you makes,
Me sick. A fire in my stomach, a hate in my heart, that shouldn't be there. I'll watch my figure, every day become the dust on your boots, the dirt on your heals, that you leave on the welcome mat.
I hope you understand...