The number on the scale
Becomes very real.
When food becomes kilojoules
And
Cravings become nil.

The number on the scale
Shouldn't be like a rusty nail.
Causing a wound
that never seems to heal,
that spreads till you're ill.

The number on the scale
is now fear.
For somehow worth is
Equals to
The number on the scale.

The number on the scale
Haunts till
The number on the scale
Decreases to
The (smaller) Number on the scale.

cake-235 calories

You can have a bite.  
Come on treat yourself.  
Indulge.  
For only the price of:
An hour of sit ups,
two hours of guilt,
A day of crying over the bathroom scale,
A week of fasting.  

French fries-250 calories

Come on take a bite.
Reward yourself.  
Indulge.  
You haven't eaten anything but your own fingernails in days.  

Chocolate milk-120 calories

Take a sip.
Indulge,
for only the cost of the rest of your life spent worshiping
the feeling of an empty stomach.  
The feeling of being cold in a warm room.
The feeling of your bones poking through your skin like white flags.  

Waffles-190 calories

Just one bite won't hurt.  
Indulge
And another and another
soon it's a binge.
Now purge.  
Purge your body of the evil of calories.
Purge your guilt into the toilet.  
Wipe your tears and brush your teeth.
It's worth it to treat yourself,right?

Fat, fat, fat.
All I see is fat.
I am the "chunkiest", the "chubbiest", the "roundest" and the "ugly pig".
I might as well be a rat, the biggest of the big.

Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "just right", "average", "normal" or "perfect size."
They lie every single time, and hell, just 'like that'.

Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "too skinny!", "I wish I looked like you", "wow! Size zero jeans?!" and "underweight".
Yet, I refuse to touch this cold, stocked plate.

Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "awful", "dying", Miss "eat something" and "throne of bones".
Yet, this body will never be my souls rightful home.

Fat, fat, fat.
All I ever will be is fat.
Even in a long gown and stuck to the end of an I.V pole,
With doctors and psychatrists and loved ones crying and begging me to just "recover, please come home!"

I am still fat.


The hospital bed is empty,
My bed is left untouched,
There is a silence as the wearers in black all sob and stare silently at the body in the ground.
Devasted and hushed...

I see them, but can no longer speak.
No longer able to feel, no longer live,
Forced to watch time pass and hearts mourn...
Their days now heartbroken and bleak.

My  best friend doesn't speak, she now sits alone,
My mother sobs every night, family reminded
so often of my presence,
The one who secrelty loved me has loved no more,
Even my pets still wait outside my door.

Those who knew me, only can remember me in the things left behind,
Even the sun itself rarely shines.


Dead, lost, gone.
I am no longer fat,
But I also no longer- belong.

It’s an addiction like any other; it’s always the same story
“if I don’t eat as much tomorrow I won’t have to take these pills so purgatory”,
yet each day the dose gets higher and the symptoms get so much worse –
you’re dependent on the emptiness and pain it brings with its curse.