She said "please take just one more bite , then you can leave the table"
I push the food around my plate ,
I dont know if im able.

Skinny wrist and tiny arms
And never fitting in , clothes that
All hang baggy , its a battle i cant win.

I assume that they can hear me
In the bathroom down the hall,
Getting rid of that last meal ,
To make myself feel small.

They make my favorite meals ,
To try and keep me pleased ,
They dont understand my
Sickness, this is a disease.

The world shoves it down our throats, how women and girls should be , perfect hair and body and not over a size three.

This sickness has been an anchor , my hands and feet are tied. The qualities that matter shouldnt be found on the outside.

I wish that i felt good enough ,
And expectations would be fair ,
So i could eat what i wanted ,
And no one would have to care.