In the mornings,
I ate like a hummingbird. Handfuls of
white chocolate chips and blueberries.
Saucers of green tea.

You do not know devotion until
you have seen these rituals.
These little rituals
where a young girl wakes up,
strips down,
holds her breath, and
steps on the scale.  

I wanted to hear my skeleton rattle inside me like
a set of keys.

I had a tape measure under my bed,
and a death wish.

There is nothing I know,
nothing more precious than this.
I wanted to be
            diamond
rough, and
jagged edges.

She’s a fairy, she just
can’t fly because
she doesn’t eat.

Have you seen the disappearing act where
the girl makes herself shrink and no one
notices because
she is already small?

I won’t stop until
I drink air and eat sunshine.

I won’t stop until
they worry (they love me).