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lib Sep 6
skipping rocks and skipping meals
magazines are teaching her to eat less, no matter how she feels

models on instagram, tiktok, youtube, and twitter
setting unrealistic expectations with their photoshop and glitter

in size two jeans, hoping to squeeze into ones
it looks like she's living the dream, but in reality, it's not a good one

1000 calories or less, isn't it nice?
she's living in an eating disorder nightmare disguised as paradise

she's losing weight, but not feeling as though she's won
she doesn't want this anymore, when will this be done?

she's dropping pounds, but feeling so shattered
compliments left and right, but it's hard to feel flattered

she's eating nothing at lunch until she's too light to function
the cafeteria starts to feel like a dungeon

feeling sick when she eats "too much"
kneeling in the bathroom using the toilet as a crutch

and then she overcompensates with exercise
when will the people around her start to hear her cries?

things are out of control, it's becoming too much for her to handle
her world feels as though it's starting to dismantle

her mental & physical health is deteriorating as she loses the weight
when will they see what it's doing to her? hopefully before it's too late
this poem is about a young girl affected by eating disorders and missing out on some of her childhood because of the havoc that these problems have wrought within her life. it's also about the negative influence that social media and magazines can have on people of all ages, but especially on impressionable kids and teens.
T Mar 2019
In a mess I created,
Cannot get out,
Breath bated.
Nola Leech Aug 21
When I was 130 pounds
I was always jealous of my 90-pound mother
One day I told her I wished she was fat too
Instead of telling me I wasn’t
She said “that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me”
my mom didn't have an eating disorder, she has always been naturally skinny her whole life, she is 96 pounds I believe
Nola Leech Aug 21
Apple cider vinegar boosts your metabolism and reduces hunger
I didn’t realize I had an appetite anymore
The feeling of food makes you sick when you can only imagine it coming back up
Spilling word ***** onto nice freshly cleaned carpets
Teeth stained, hospital gowns
I Need some mouthwash
If nobody knows about the problem that means it doesn’t exist right?
If no one can see your face, hallowed then you don’t take up space right?
Wrong, “you’re too fat, you’re too fat” You scream into the mirror
Haunching over the toilet, trying, crying to stand back up but no words come out and your legs won’t move for help
My illness is hard not to hate somedays when your throat is sore from five times of binging and purging today
Six rounds each
Maybe more if you can stomach it
Your nose will smell it and you’ll gag up more
Your mind  is the worst weapon you can use against yourself
Counting every calorie as a new way to punish yourself for existing
You’re so afraid of taking up space that you will resort to slicing your belly in half in order to achieve inner peace
Baby, it doesn’t work that way
Listen I know that somedays you look to see your pretty skinny friends
And you feel bad about your body and how one of your thighs could barely fit through the head of her skintight t-shirt
But I have been there, I have seen **** you couldn’t even imagine
Girls who want to become bulimic or anorexic, get ready for your teeth to wear down and chip from the acid from below your belly
Rumbling with the force of regret, the food you just ate but didn't want the weight
Get ready for the hole in your throat right next to your tongue down your esophagus
That burned its way coming up as it did down
Get ready to see your mom or your dad walk in to see you on your knees praying to the gods above as below anything over the throne,
Get ready for the disappointment, the extra eyes, get ready for the tears the fears
Why can’t you just eat? The rehab, The relapse
Get ready for hating your body, lack of control
The spiral
Get ready because ana and mia don’t give a **** if you were happy before
Because  they just want to be skinny
Kaylee Aug 17
Everyone has their addictions. I’m addicted to you. I’m addicted to the way you make me feel in control while you wrap me around your finger. I’m addicted to the emptiness.  Drowning myself in banana coloured pills as I stuff my fingers down my throat. I wash my emotions flush down, swirling away as my body cries for mercy. For me stop abusing it for a vision of perfection that I will never reach alone. I can’t stop, losing control is like a death sentence. You’re killing me but I love you all the same. Sometimes I wish I could be free. To go back to a time when there were more than numbers on my plate. Before the calculator in my head began to count. A time when I was happy. The only way to be free is to let go of you. But letting go feels like dying even though I’m dying anyway. I can’t get enough of you. This pain is all I know. I am nothing without you. I sometimes want to live but I can’t bear the feelings of being alone. I love you.
Nola Leech Aug 13
It was a long day of hating myself for eating
It was a day filled with crying, trying to throw up
Haunched over the toilet after the smoothie
After dinner
After the countless snacks, I had
Each time retreating to the bathroom
Tired of being empty but afraid of being full
When you caught me getting into the french fries
It was going to be my last snack I swear
My stomach was grumbling and just needed something I swear
I was going to dispose of it as soon as I finished
I took as little as I could so you wouldn't notice
I was craving it and craving it
I put them on my plate so many times today just to empty them back into the bag
And sigh and cry because I gained the last pound back from the big gulps of cold water I downed
Makes me wonder if I should have thrown that up too
I didn't want you to know because I was embarrassed
I shouldn't be eating like that
So much
Wasting so much
But I can't stop being hungry
And no matter how hard I try
I can't seem to not hate myself after I do it
I'm sorry I'm trying to fix it
I just don't know how to stop
I'm trying to not eat so I don't waste anything
But it's hard when you're hungry
And you're mouth waters
You just wonder when normal will be enough
When 1,000 calories won't feel like poison coming in and going out
When you're greedy eyes won't take too much, your stomach can't hold
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I don't know if my trying is enough
But I just can't stop hating myself
Today is hard
I think I threw up my anti-depressant too
Kit Aug 9
Somewhere beneath the broad darkness
and the landslide, there’s a pocket
of nothingness, like the air bubbles
that oxygenate red wine. And somewhere
inside that, there I am,
mime-hands loving Stevie Smith
and all she stood for. A void
is just a void, and a poem
is just a poem, no matter how
you read it. You can bring this
into the church and line it up with the stained glass,
looking for a hidden meaning,
but I know this nothingness intimately,
like I know soft skin and the taste of *****,
and there is nothing to be found in there
that isn’t already inside you, except
maybe warmth and candlelight
and the idea that nothing is too far gone
to not be saved anymore. Sometimes,
I think people intentionally obscure what they mean,
like they’re not good enough for a line break,
and like it’ll be easier to rationalise being left behind
if they were limping from the start of the race
anyway. Anyway. Sorry about this;
sorry about all of this, I just really like how it looks
when you try to work any of this out.
Because it looks dismal. It looks like a pregnant
sundial churning out another day,
another day that might be Sunday,
but it also might not. It’s not like I know.
I think this stopped being a poem a few lines ago
and started being something to burn, instead,
but you can take the smallest of lighters
to the mightiest of Goliaths and they’ll scream
all the same. I heard that lobsters scream
if you put them in boiling water whilst they’re still alive.
I feel like that sometimes.
I don’t know if I’m the lobster or the water,
most days. I think I know now.
I think I know something, now,
at least.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'New Rugged Cross'.
Kit Aug 9
Let’s talk about my knuckles,
and how scarred they are;
how the callouses seep
into flesh, become part of me,
rubbing circles underneath the hood
of my uvula.

So let’s talk about my knuckles,
and how they’re only the starting point
for throwing up apples,
golden, red, green,
bitter and sweet,
all of them mine, to be choked
back into me.

So let’s talk about Mary-birds,
and the sacrifices they make
for their children,
and in doing that, let’s talk about *****
and how beautiful the sheen
of afterbirth looks in the toilet bowl,
and how often self-destruction
tastes like sacrifice on the way back up.

So let’s talk about my knuckles,
again, and the visceral scraping
against teeth,
and how much it feels like giving up
to not sit by the toilet
waiting for a sign
that this is somehow enough.

So let’s talk about being good enough,
and how I’ll never feel that way
until my knuckles mingle
with milk-white bone,
and how the rows of pews
are pearlescent,
tainted yellow,
with smoke and bile.

So let’s talk about talons,
and vultures, and everything that happens
after death, and let’s talk about
how one day the sea will swallow us whole,
and let’s talk about the belly of the beast,
and let’s talk about Jonah,
and oh - sorry - the sermon is over,
and the priest is taking confessions,
so let’s not talk
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'New Rugged Cross'.
Belle Aug 8
i found stretch marks on my body the other day
i started slapping at them as tears ran down my face.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
but now all i can think about is what men will think of the red streaks on my hips and legs
how i wont be pretty anymore
so effing ugly.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
they're natural, but i wouldnt have gotten them if i didnt gain a drastic amount
i cant see past them.
i weighed myself again, too.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
theres more coming
i see more everyday
i cant wear bikinis anymore
i cant have *** anymore
i want to rip off my skin.
"i am okay."
"i am recovered."
"they dont matter"
NM Aug 8
It was a little too late until I realized it was never about what I was eating...

But what was eating at me.
5 years from today still recovered! I still struggle, especially now after a recent trauma...but I have been staying strong all I can.
And its those moments of awakening in which inspired this simple excerpt that really have impacted me the most.
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