I sleep with hunger beside me.
Not because the house is empty-
the fridge hums softly in the dark,
full of things I could eat.
But the mirror waits.
And I cannot face it
without feeling sick in my own skin.
When I look at myself
I don’t see a person.
I see something wrong.
Something too wide,
too heavy,
too much.
My jeans started slipping down my hips.
My mom noticed.
“You’ve lost weight,” she said-
just a small comment,
the way someone notices
the weather changing.
So I looked again.
The scale said
eleven pounds gone.
Eleven.
But the mirror didn’t care.
It stretched my body back
into something bigger
than before.
So I make quiet deals with hunger.
I eat only when I have to.
Only when people are watching.
Only when not eating
would be too obvious.
Most nights
I let the emptiness stay.
It sits in my stomach
like a promise-
sharp and patient.
Because somewhere in my head
there’s a thought
I can’t ****
that maybe
if I shrink enough,
if I erase enough of myself,
if I learn to live inside the ache-
one day
the mirror
will stop looking at me
like I am something
to hate.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 4:53 PM UTC
I sleep with hunger beside me.
Not because the house is empty-
the fridge hums softly in the dark,
full of things I could eat.
But the mirror waits.
And I cannot face it
without feeling sick in my own skin.
When I look at myself
I don’t see a person.
I see something wrong.
Something too wide,
too heavy,
too much.
My jeans started slipping down my hips.
My mom noticed.
“You’ve lost weight,” she said-
just a small comment,
the way someone notices
the weather changing.
So I looked again.
The scale said
eleven pounds gone.
Eleven.
But the mirror didn’t care.
It stretched my body back
into something bigger
than before.
So I make quiet deals with hunger.
I eat only when I have to.
Only when people are watching.
Only when not eating
would be too obvious.
Most nights
I let the emptiness stay.
It sits in my stomach
like a promise-
sharp and patient.
Because somewhere in my head
there’s a thought
I can’t ****
that maybe
if I shrink enough,
if I erase enough of myself,
if I learn to live inside the ache-
one day
the mirror
will stop looking at me
like I am something
to hate.