It’s not an addiction;
really, it’s not.
But that mirror,
it’s the source of my confliction.

Not long ago,
I could look in that mirror
and see nothing wrong at all,
but now, I’ve got nothing to show.

The pressure to always be perfect,
it tears away at my body.
At first, it looked like nothing,
but it had side effects.

I wanted to be one of them,
one of those girls that they all envied.
But the price to pay was my body,
not a small diamond gem.

It was never enough,
No matter what I did.
Those skipped meals,
Turned my image rough.

I stare and ask myself,
will it ever be worth it?
My image in the mirror,
Kept begging for me to quit.

It became a nightly thing,
Standing on that scale.
And I was always pleased to see,
That the pounds kept on dropping.

My hair had started to thin,
My bones began to show.
Everything was different.
The desire was starting to win.

The pain I was putting myself through,
the constant suffering,
everything was just a blur,
but nobody ever knew.

I don’t starve anymore.
But I could if I tried,
It was a part of my life,
Now it’s just a closed door.

It’s not an addiction,
Really, it’s not.
But that mirror,
It’s the source of my affliction.