Counting calories when I'm bored
Analyzing fat
Comparing flatness
I am the queen of obsession
So quickly
So easily
And then it is too late
So I don't let myself think about it constantly
I try not to
But I do
And all my friends say I have the flattest stomach
But when I look in the mirror
All I can see
Is how my thighs are thicker than last year
I have connected pain with reward
That if it hurts its healing
That if I'm hungry I'll improve
The red is rising with no ceiling
Keeping low to the ground
Not taking off my shirt when I kiss you
Crying with no sound
Not letting myself miss you
Processed sugar is a no
But I am so cold
All the time.
Pressure
This is a part 2 to a poem I posted here last February with the same title. My issues with eating have switched since then, and they are not large issues. But they're there.