I'd like to be a bird, you see.
And I might travel all the seven seas.
I might even reach a paradise
far away from their judging eyes.
What's paradise, you ask?
well, if you're so keen to know...
It's somewhere where I'm skinny enough,
and somewhere where your mind is clear.

"Sounds like heaven."
"Yes it is."

"Will we ever get there?"
"You know I'm too heavy to get off the ground."
"And I'm too fuddled to find my way around."

"Well, we never were meant to be a bird, you see."

i once was free
but i let you tie my hands, my feet
and tighten,
until the person i was
evaporated
with ropes, chains, prison bars
you held me up until i forgot
how to stand without you

i once was free
but i let you drown me,
despondent at the bottom of the sea.
i waited so long to breathe
choking, gasping, panicking,
until i didn't care
to breathe anymore;
until i didn't know how to.

i once was free,
but like fire ravaging underfoot,
i let you consume me.
you chewed away at my sanity
with every bite
counting, measuring, running
just until the fat was gone
until i,
was gone.

i once was free,
but then you pushed me
a little too far this time
who knew i would end up here.
"i just wanted to be skinny"
i repeated
"i just wanted to be skinny"
until all i wanted was to be
dead.

and there i was,
holding on by a string.
the same string you tied
around my waist, and then,
around my neck
and pulled tighter,
tighter,
i once was free.

My pain never really goes away
It comes and goes in many ways

I worry, I eat, I end up next to the toilet seat
I lay, fetus-position on the floor

I don't allow the tears to come
for I am strong

Strong enough to stop whenever I please
So why do I still puke my shame away?

Is it really a life, what you are living?
A slave to numbers and hate,
Turning your body into a machine,
A strange reflection of your turmoil
Tell me, is this really a life?

As you count your grapes into a bowl
Are you really feeling satisfied;
Or as you sit at home denying yourself
The pleasure of company,
Tell me, is this really a life?

Pounding feet matching the stutter
Of your heart, and the blood that
Runs sluggish in your skinny veins
As you run yourself into the ground;
Tell me, is this really a life?

Talking more to the voices inside
Your head than your old friends
Carving away at your skin;
Destroying what little of you is left
Tell me, is this really a life?

Or blindly chewing and swallowing,
Knowing you’ll hate yourself
But needing to feel, comfort is sought
In the numbness of food;
Tell me, is this really a life?

As the inevitable urge overtakes
When you’ve lost control:
You failed, you’re weak and now
As you bend over the toilet bowl
Tell me, is this really a life?

You never stop to think, well maybe
You dare not: you’re haunted
By the idea your time is wasted
So you are wasting yourself
Tell me, is this really a life?

*© Tara India

Your tall body has always enticed me
Your long arms have kept me safe
Your scruffy beard makes me smile
And your smile makes me melt
Your hands hold mine and make me feel loved
And wipe away the tears

Enough of these superficial reasons
Your love has comforted me
Your humor has made me laugh
(Until I snort)
Your words have made smile
And cry
But always out of love
Your generosity
Has never left me empty handed
No matter how much I beg you
To keep your money for yourself
Your caring heart reminds me
I'm not alone

Somehow you stopped the shaking trembling in my anxious thoughts
You brought me back to reality
You stopped me from dying
You stopped me from hurting myself
You stopped me from starving
From expelling the contents of my stomach
But most of all you gave me hope
A reason to carry on

A reason to fight my mind
To tell the mirror it's a liar
To throw my blades away
And eat whatever I want
A reason to keep living
And to love myself

I know you don't feel good enough
But look at all this evidence
Change the criteria in your head
The requirement of "good enough"
Should only contain one thing
You

All you have to be is you
To be good enough for me
Because I ******* love you

i am lonely in a
body that has wasted
my skin to paper stretched
against collar bones and
my ribcage won't stop
trembling

i am isolated in a
body which hyperventilates
when it nears all things
sweet or salty or sour
or good because the weight
wrestling in the pit of my
stomach suffocates me

i am alone in a body
that aches for untouching,
unbruised skin and hair so
thick it'll never fall again but
it cannot give that to me any
longer because that would
mean i cannot be sick

i am in a body
that refuses to love me back

I'm crumbling again.
I can feel it.
I need contact.
Human contact.
This urge to feel and be felt.
No matter how hard.
How soft.
How painful.
How pleasureful.
This craving.
This emptiness.
It can not be filled.