Look, here I am
Reclined, legs akimbo,
Outwardly bulging to lordosis.
A pint of blueberries on my hips, form
A **** train through my lips

I had been honored by the Hoarding Board:
Primly donuts, princely Kinder,
Father Belvita, priggish pretzels.

They were folded
With teeth, into acid.
They're all memorialized, in thrall
Wrappers nested within wrappers

Yes. Here I am
Churning away
My heart pulsing lust
My fingers settling dust.

Your concerns in front of the mirrors
Of dressing rooms, of fitness-gymnasiums
Petty.

I'm above all that,
I ate all of that.
Pretty.

i'm getting bad again.
i'm kind of vain. i look at my reflection often.
i feel terrible every time.
it kind of reminds me of when my baby teeth would get loose.
i'd push my tooth side to side with my tongue.
there'd be a twinge of pain, but it felt good.
locking myself in my bathroom and pulling my shirt up to see my waist is like that.
it hurts me every time---
constantly reminding me of how i'll never look the way i should,
but i can't stop.

my room was filled with darkness, except for the flashlight i was holding.
pacing and pacing and pacing
crying and crying and crying
my note to you was written in blue ink that looked like scribbles.
you told me i could talk to you but you became angry whenever i did.
i decided i would give up.
i couldn't bear starving myself anymore.
i couldn't look at myself anymore.
i couldn't stand watching you rapidly distance yourself from me.
my hips were bleeding and the blood was dripping down my thighs and sticking to my sweatpants.
i looked through every drawer and every cabinet in my bedroom.
i stayed silent because my family was sleeping peacefully and thought i was, too.
i couldn't find the pills.
i looked through the same drawers and cabinets hoping that i would see those tiny white circles in that tiny plastic bag.
i couldn't find the pills.
i decided i would go to bed.
i lit the note for you on fire and threw it out of my bedroom window and into my lawn.
all that pacing and all that crying tired me out
and i curled up in bed with blood all over my legs
and gently cried myself to sleep.

I can't tell why
I'm crying
anymore

Where are my tears coming from?
Are they coaxed out by the fingers down my throat, coming up with the acids in my stomach?
Or are they because of the pain leading me to do this to myself?

Blurring things together,
Making my reflection as distorted
and fat
and bloated
as I am in my mind

I can feel the flesh settled on my bones.
The fat waiting there,
wishing I could skim it off with a knife
I know it must be as soft
as butter

why am I doing this
why am I crying
why am I killing myself from the inside

I can't tell why
I'm dying
anymore