When I told you I was better
When I said I never relapsed
When I said the scars were healing
When I said the food stayed down
When I said you could do the same
When I said it gets easier

I lied.

I still cut and avoid food
Like the plague
I still cry at night
And there's nothing in the mirror
I don't hate

I still feel ugly
And hate the colour
Of my skin
I still pinch at my stomach
And feel so obese

I still say I'm 'erotophobic'
As though people want me
I still tell people I'm straight
And that 'I love God'

I'm still ashamed
I still blame myself
I still deny anything happened
I still believe I'm telling the truth

I'm still paranoid
I'm still afraid of everything
I still feel weak
I still have panic attacks

I still want to be held
I still pretend I like to comfort
I still pretend I'm strong
I still pretend I care

I still throw up
And my throat still hurts
I still smoke
And it still doesn't help

I still have rampant thoughts
I still hate conversation
I still feel inadequate
I still pretend I like my poetry

I still try to write my stories
The words no longer come to me
I still try to create a family of friends
I still can't abide the noise enough
To make it work

I'm still bitter
I'm still violent
I'm still unhappy
I still fake everything I do

I'm not really okay.
Not really.
And I wanted to say 'I'm sorry,'
I lied.