I’m still not eating, sweetheart,
the weight’s gained back and it hangs heavy around my thighs
and no one can really see it but me
and the mirror

it feels like every time I look at myself in the reflection of a car window
someone else is already inside

I used to love how thin I was,
I used to hate how thin I was,
how I looked emaciated and unhealthy,
all ribs and hip bones, all angles
that would dig into the soft spots of those I loved

but still I miss the way
all of my clothes hung like dead bodies off of my sharp curves
the way the fabric fell like a waterfall

now it clings like static,
like a reminder, like a smell,
and I feel stronger in some ways
and much, much weaker in others.

wish I could just
roll down the car window.