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Having been assumed
To have been consumed
By all that loomed
Yet barely bloomed
I find myself groomed
To be exhumed
From beneath the layers that left me doomed
Sarah Flynn Dec 2020
I wrote a poem
about eating disorders.

I wrote a poem
about the pain in my heart.

I said that weight is not
equivalent to health

because weight is not
equivalent to health.

I stand by that statement.
I stand by the truth.



in response, a woman
who I have never met
decided to ask me

how much cake
I ate that night.

to that woman,
and to anyone with
the same judgement
in their tiny hearts,

I would like to
give you an answer.



I do not have
an eating disorder.

I lost a large amount
of weight over a
short period of time.

because of that,
I was complimented.

but the truth is that
when I was that skinny,
I was the unhealthiest
I have ever been.

I had stopped eating.
I was sick. something was
physically wrong with me,
going undetected because

no one thought to ask me
how I was feeling.

they praised me for
my sudden weight loss,
not realizing that

I wasn’t dieting.
I was dying.



I have since recovered.
I have gained back all
of the weight that I lost.

I have not gained back
any of this weight in fat;
I gained all of my weight
back in muscle.



to the stranger
who tried to shame me
because she assumed
that I must be fat,

I run four miles
every morning.

before this pandemic,
I went to the gym
at least five out of seven
nights a week.

I had a promising career
in competitive skateboarding,
which was lost only because
of an injury in which
teenage me broke her legs.

I ran cross-country back
in high school and

only a year ago,
I ran an ultramarathon:
100 miles of terrain
and 24 hours to run.

I am physically fit
and most likely stronger
than you have ever been.



I laughed to myself
when I saw your comment

because you just proved that
everything I said was true.

you provided the perfect
example of society’s twisted
views on weight loss, so
I guess I should thank you.

you immediately jumped
to the conclusion that
I must be fat, and therefore
I must be unhealthy.



your ignorance is sad.
it will get you nowhere.

I can almost guarantee that
your anger and hatred
has not helped you.

your rudeness has
made you the topic of this
poem about judgement.

and unless you are able
to learn empathy,
this might be your life’s
biggest achievement.



to the woman who thought
that her words would
somehow hurt me,

I would like you to know
that you were wrong.

you have made me laugh
at the irony of your ignorance,

and you have made me sad
for you and the awful life that
you must live to have felt a
need to make that comment.

but you have not hurt me.



to that woman,
if one day we ever meet,

or if one day
I meet someone with
the same attitude as you,

let’s compete in an
ultramarathon together.

let’s cover those 100
miles of terrain and
finish that 24 hours of
almost nonstop running.

I hope you realize that
I could beat you.
I could easily win with
you as my competitor.



and finally, to answer
the original question
that for some reason you
felt so compelled to ask:

no, I did not have
any cake that night.



but I hope you know
that if we were to race,

I am confident that
I could still crush you
with three slices of cake
in my stomach.
on the stool the Mantis sat
I watched him for a good while
until he turned to face the piano
stretched his incredibly long legs and arms
and began to play
a version of colorblind so intensely beautiful
it brought tears to my shallow eyes
and warmth to my frozen heart
just after the final note echoed down the hallway
he snagged a fly that had fallen
under the hypnotic beauty of his play
he turned his head in that peculiar way they do
and gazed at me
blinked one giant eye and said
'never assume'
don't ask
The Unknown Nov 2020
Funny
They can tell
When my
liver's working too hard
But they can't tell
When I'm on
Drugs

Funny
They accuse
me
of mischief
and mayhem
but they don't know I'm high
till I tell them
Charlotte Ahern Jun 2020
our love was always the pink elephant in the room
everyone saw it
except us
once we realised, it was already over and done
Ana Jun 2020
I have a tendency to romanticise,
A habit of hoping.
Jumping to conclusions in my mind,
Maybe it's a way of coping.

It's caused a few issues,
Assumptions tend to do so.
But my mind won't give up that easily,
It sure doesn’t like hearing, 'no.'

So I may as well embrace it,
After all, what's so bad about hope?
Maybe that’s what we all need,
Maybe that’s a good way to cope.

Ana
I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I like the first stanza or so, but it went a different way than I was expecting. Let me know what you think!
Ken Pepiton May 2020
That hawk,
the one who sometimes attracts my attention,
by
repeating a pattern of swooping ellipses, as if

signaling me,
I'm witcha man, I fly by each day to say,

look up, I'm witcha man, which

is what my lizard brain would say, I think,
if it had words,

to express awareness of the pattern seeming
meaningful

enough
to
warrant a closer look.

Ah, I see. The hawk is not signaling me, she is hunting
my neighbor's range fed chickens.
At a glance, I figured it out.
Grey Dec 2019
No.
She's not made of glass.
She's not worried about breaking.
She's not delicate.

Stop.
You don't know how she feels.
You don't understand why she doesn't want the spotlight.
You don't get what it's like.

Don't.
She wouldn't want you to talk about this.
She doesn't want them to know.
She won't want you to tell them when you have it all wrong.

Please.
Stop making assumptions.
Stop breaking her trust.
Stop talking for her.

Go.
This isn't what she wants.
This is why she's hesitant.
This is what she's afraid of.
My sister is the bravest, strongest, selfless, best person I know. Stop. Please. You don't get it. I don't get it. Nobody gets it, not completely. Nobody but her knows exactly what it's like to be in her mind. So don't tell others when you have it all wrong. They don't have to know. They shouldn't know, not from you, not from anybody but her. I'm so tired of this. You're supposed to be the one who supports her the most. You have to think about what she wants. You have to think about what it's like to be her. I guess you try, but you get it all wrong. So stop it! Please.. just don't...
Grey Dec 2019
They say I'm perfect.
They say they wish they were me.
I scoff in their face.

They don't know my life.
They haven't traversed my mind
or searched through my thoughts.

They know nothing of
what it is like to be me.
They don't get to say

That I am perfect
Any more than I can say
I know their life story.
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