sometimes it's hard
just to pick up a fork.
i find myself too weak, arms too limp.
excuses
upon
excuses
piled like a house of cards,
one breeze and i’ll blow away with it.
you won’t be able to catch me,
to stop me,
i can’t even do that myself.

my heart is heavy,
stomach empty,
i still struggle to eat daily but i’m trying.
i do it just to spite those voices in my head  
when i should be doing it for me, but
it’s hard to block them out  
when they sound a lot like my mother.

sometimes it’s hard
just being alive,
hard to get out of bed when
the weight of the world is pressing down on you.
hard not wanting to die
when the sweet release of these demons is all you find yourself
thinking about,
dreaming about anymore.
dreams of floating through the sky
like the clouds passing;
i’m jealous of the way they hang there, gracefully.
i want to be just like them but
i can’t trust myself not to
fall
back
down
to earth.
i’ve done it too many times before.

i’ve got to remind myself that
recovery takes time.
i’ll never unlearn the calories in a raspberry
but at least now i can drink a glass of orange juice
without shedding a single tear.
sure it’s laced with *****
but don’t worry. it’s not a problem
it’s a coping method,
one you might not approve of but one that works, see
over time the scars on my arms have faded.
heart less heavy,
stomach still empty.
well, not completely empty.
but that’s progress right?