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Noon-Otto Retter Oct 2018
A finger in a jar,
Spooning out peanut butter,
In a cold empty house.
A pack of crisps.
A crunchy bar.
A sandwich.
Some fizzy.

Slowly,
Pushing the handle,
Tap,
Tap,
Tapping,
Gush.

I push it all back out.
At three or so I would awaken
Out of a fragile sleep
to the clang of pots and bowls
Cabinets, silver spoons and a measuring cup
Pancakes fried in a skillet
Buckwheat from a box
I don’t know how long I lay there
Listening
And I wondered whom else in the house can hear
I was closest to the door that led to you
Just one door that separates
Were the others in this darkened house staring at the wall or ceiling? Counting?
Afraid, just a little.
Thinking about the morning
when it comes

After your feeding,  
the kitchen
would be cleaned to its former glory
Spotless
And into the bathroom
Right next to my ears
You would step softly and close that door behind you
Turning on the sink’s faucet
And then the shower
Taking the laxatives
And wait
I wait

We all wait in this house for you to finish
It goes on and on
And then you turn off the water
Go back to bed
And maybe then I can sleep
Again.
Joy Jul 2018
The siren.
Inviting,
Promising.
Ensuring happiness.
Guaranteeing joy.
Not until she traps you do you wish escape.
Not from what she promised, but from the pain she brought you.
But you've made a home for yourself here.
You've gotten comfortable in the habits she's given you.
But every time she comes to visit, something in your gut screams at you to escape.
No, literally. Your gut. Your stomach. Your intestines.
Your entire body becomes exhausted from chasing her promises.
Now, you've forgotten who you were before she trapped you.
You try and try for what feels like years to escape.
And finally you succeed.
You've successfully escaped the place you call home.
After time and time of being lured back to home, I've come to learn this sirens name.
She is what she does to people. To me.
Forces me to control what I eat.
Makes me second guess myself.
Track everything I eat and drink.
Make me guilty for eating something she doesn't like.
I won't bore you with more boringly grim details, just know,
She has sisters.
Please, don't make the mistake of trusting their promises.
Terry Collett Jun 2017
Whit ur ye daein?
your mother said
outside the lavvy.

Daein
mah business
you said
leaning over
the lavvy bowl
wiping your mouth
with the back
of your hand.

If yoo're makin'
yooself boak again
I'll tan yer erse
your mother said
moodily.

Aam nae
jist normal mince
you replied
leaning back
on your heels
looking at
the lavvyseat
yellowing
at the rim.

Ye best nae be
haverin' tae me
she said.

She walked off.

You sensed
the acid
in your mouth.

Your head
felt hot.

You got up
and wiped
your mouth
with toilet tissue
and threw it
in the bowl.

You pulled
the chain
water flushed.

You breathed in
the dank air
stench of puke
and *****
lingered there.
A SCOTTISH GIRL AND HER MOTHER AND A BULEMIC ISSUE 1995.
cynthia Mar 2015
I blossomed into a temple
all white marble
no cracks in the walls
no unfiltered air

we are told to see
the beauty
in self respect
but not taught
how

can you even
teach it
without experiencing
a lack thereof?

I crumbled beneath
all the pressure of being
pristine
and chiseled emotion
into the white walls

they were a sacred prison
that left me purging
in the shower
wishing I could feel
totally empty

Mentally.
Physically.

I showed a pretty boy
my secret garden
and I sipped
the devil's poison
from a golden cup

perfection left me
alone and aching
and cut me deep
on my upper right thigh
down my arms
across my stomach

Sigh.

But
skin is skin
and mine is ****
all the pretty girls
tell me so

so when you try
to tell me you
"love" me
don't find it strange
when I simply say

"No."
Rhiannon Grace Dec 2014
i stand below the line
my ribs stand out on their own
i am not thin enough
i need to be only bone

i'll starve the demons out of me
purge until they're gone
i won't let food touch my lips
i've been too big, too long

the voices that i hear
they tell me i'm not good enough
no one will ever love me
because i weigh so ******* much
------
i stood below the line
they said i was underweight
but all i saw was fat
and all i felt was hate

i cried the demons out of me
wept until i was numb
i didn't let people see
the monster that i had become

the voices that i used to hear
told me i had to go
that if i wanted freedom
my blood would have to flow.
Makenzie Marie Nov 2014
All I want
today
is to give up.

I want to stop eating.
I want to stop thinking.
I want to stand in the snow
and let my body freeze
until I've burned off every last calorie
I want to run until I puke.
Then run more.
Until the moment comes that I black out
Until that empty moment
of empty relief
comes to me
even if it's only a moment.
I just want to be free.

Because I'm living in a personal ****
most days lately I don't even know myself
I can't look in the mirror without disgust
I freaking hate my stinking guts.

I've never hated it so much
that I'd rather stay inside.
I've never been so ashamed
that all I wanted to do is hide.

But today that's where I am.
Olivia McCann Nov 2014
I'll write to starve
She said.

I'll eat words,
Develop a bulemic
Mentality,
Purging the words
To the page in
Nauseating bursts.

I'll force it
When I have to.
I'll write when
The hunger pangs
Themselves,
Start to eat me.

I'll sum up calories through
Raucous poetry.
I'll grow weak
As my pen grows strong.

I'll write even when
My hand shakes
Because there's not
Enough sustenance.

I'll deny my body,
And cultivate my mind
With measured abundance.
I'll shrivel up and
Waste away.
But the words will stay
On the paper.

You'll see and say,
How can a skeleton write?

I'll grip the pen
With bony fingers
And I'll show you.
I'll feed you too.
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