i dream of the day that i become
the girl people do double-takes on,
the day that i’ll have smooth thighs
and a flat stomach
and slim arms.

i’ve learned to take in my father’s
criticisms (“you shouldn’t eat that,”
he tells me) and how to ignore
the hunger in the deepest parts of me,
the sharp pain clawing at my inside.

every word seeps under my skin,
into my blood,
poisons my thoughts until the day
i become just skin and bones,
angles of a girl who used to be.

i’ve always been told to not listen
to what anyone else thinks,
only to my own thoughts,
so what happens when i’m the one
who has turned against me?

the only thing i’m eating anymore
is myself, from the inside out.