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.

Let me be brave* I say as I become the hero I need in my own story,
as I try to save myself from the demons in unknown and dark territory.

Hunger brings about the finest euphoria throughout my brain;
the control and power I feel is addictive – something I must maintain.
Waiting to be weightless; stopping at nothing to become thin -
the cruel voice in my head rips me into pieces from within.

I have a scar on my right hand, directly below my ******* knuckle.
It is from my teeth digging into my skin while I shoved my fingers down my throat.
It is from me trying to rid myself of hate,
To rid myself of ugly.
To rid myself of the thought that, "I am not worthy if I am fat".

It has been exactly 1 year and 3 months since I last forced myself to *****.
And I can tell.
I can see every single calorie that was not purged,
Every single pound that my body has held on to,
And every single ***** look in the mirror.

But for some reason, you don't see that.
You undress me and you call me beautiful.
It makes me want to *****.
You touch me and i flinch.
You tell me you love me and I ask how?

The only time I feel worthy is when I'm gagging into a toilet bowl with swollen eyes.

I recite the thoughts I pray,
I do so everyday,
Just because I like to think
The others will go away.

I thank the Lord for being healthy,
For my body being capable,
I'm pleased that my system's stable.

This is so the fever of my mind,
Won't persist through till mornings light.

I guess it works every time.
You see I might have caught a glimpse,
Of this girl who was called Mia,
She didn't stay too long though;
They said she was sickness,
And I had to be better.

But sometimes I hear her calling,
Most of the time she's silent,
Although she kindly likes to visit.
She likes to play this game
Of thoughts,
But I know that I'm winning.
She wants me to join her team,
Apparently I can't make up my mind,
Or at least that's as it seems.

I thank the Lord for my good health,
And it's bad to contradict,
When I recite my blessings I remember,
This means I cannot make myself sick.

So next time Mia joins me,
For just a little bit,
I remind her of what I know is right,
Even if she doesn't like it.
I tell myself to remain my state of mind:
That I can't go back there
Not just 'one more time'.

Have you seen this girl called Mia?
If you do, please walk away.
I know that she will beg you,
Tell you she wants to stay.
After a while, you'll have taken the time to see,
That this girl called Mia,
Is not actually all that pretty.