You tell me I am wrong to think the way I do.
God, I wish I could just stop thinking the way I do.
But I can't.
These things are engrained.
The collarbones,
The ribs,
The hipbones.
The things I crave.
All I can think is
"Thin".
All I can tell myself is
"Thin".
But I am not thin.
When I look in the mirror,
I am disgusted.
I pinch at my skin,
And I beat it as punishment,
For being
Imperfect.
And I know that
Flaws are natural,
And nothing about this
Disorder
Is natural.
But that stopped making a difference
A long,
Long,
Time ago.
Natural,
Healthy,
Okay,
Normal,
Average,
Not dying.
None of that matters.
Skinny stopped being
Enough.
Being bones
Is all I ache for.
And I am nowhere near
Bones.
I am nowhere near
Skinny.
I am nowhere near
Thin.
But it's all I want.
And it's what I
Destroy
My body for.
I'm broken,
And nobody can fix me.
I have been like this for years.
God, I wish I didn't have to be
Fat.
If I weren't
Fat,
I wouldn't let my body ache,
And Decay
For my version of
"Perfection."
If I weren't
Fat,
I wouldn't **** myself
Every day.