my hands are shaking.
well, that’s nothing new.
for goodness’ sake,
control yourself and type.
control.
of course.
one month free?
hah.
maybe from that.
if not that,
I’ll always find something else.
I’d forgotten
that food tastes like failure,
and the burning in my throat
won’t let me forget
that I didn’t think I was worth
eating today
or yesterday
or any day the past weeks,
and that family dinners
made me anxious enough
to force something down
and throw it up later.
but it’s not so much about
my stupid image
as it is the fact that
my brain
rejects the thought of swallowing,
screaming with every bite that
'you’re not meant to have this'
and 'this will just make you sick.'
'this is why your mother
talks about your weight so much.
it’s the most pathetic thing about you.'
but the thing is,
that doesn’t consume me.
I don’t spend hours
hating my reflection
until I watch my mirrored eyes fill with tears.
what consumes me
is sinking to the floor at one in the morning
and hating the way
my lips say
'I’m not hungry'
before I can stop them,
and giving in
to silent tears
before my shaking fingers
will ever give in to breakfast,
and I try to rationalize that
maybe I have more allergies
than I realize,
or maybe I just need to eat healthier,
and then I remember
that my stomach doesn’t care
whether it’s rejecting salad or pancakes.
I’ll still see stars
when I stand up.
I thought I’d gotten over this,
but when a brain craves destruction,
I don’t know
if it ever lets go.
take away one form
and it will find another.
I'd just like to know
that if every **** thing
is about control,
why the hell
can’t I
take
it
back