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alice Jun 2014
"You're too skinny",
says my love
just as the dawn
breaks through
the window shades.

The seconds
turn into sobs.
With every tear
another bone
protrudes.

All:
cheekbones,
hipbones
and ribs.
My rings
slip off my fingers,
jeans slide down,
the numbers
on the scale
decrease;
these moments,
a triumph.

There's no
stopping her,
no turning away.
She's taken over;
demanding:
SMALLER THAN SMALL.

I answer with:
obsession,
body checking;
an overpowering
need
to be weightless.

I close the door
on him
and the silly ideas
of getting well.
Turning to her,
we hold fragile hands;
I whisper,

"Together, till the end."
All my habits are personified. Nervosa is a close, long-standing friend of mine.
Miira Jun 2014
Stretch marks.
  Cellulite.
    Scales.

Want.
  Pretty  

Reflection,
  Is that really me?

Knife.
  Shredder.
    Fats be gone.
      For the better.

Please?
trigger warning
Andrea Jun 2014
I thought I was better
because they sent me away.
But everything is just a number
that makes me ugly.
the binge purge cycle, how cliché,
but I just want to be beautiful.
anorexia is overused, trending.
it's eating away at my sanity,
morality.
I just want to be pretty.
Sour Patch May 2014
Self harm might be my very own self defense mechanism .
In the midst of my weakness, I feel the most powerful.
The burning, the aching , the shame .
Just tell him I'll be okay , ill reach my goal and be what he deserves ..
Rose L May 2014
Break down the mirror, and break me down
brains in my hair and teeth at my wrists,
she said fourteen caps of alprazolam gave her all she needed
she needs a new world, a new earth, a new ruler, that's what she needed-
I told you it wasn't meant to be this way, i was meant to be the prettiest
but girls with thickened veins and thickened wrists are destined for the bridge edge
My silver smiler body double told me to cut out the poison in my veins
and guess what I did it I did it I did it again
tell them your name, dysmorphia, tell them all what you think of me -
start the car and run me over, honey.
My poetry style is 1) ***** on a word document 2) Upload. Not good. I have yet again failed in not mentioning wrists in a poem...****.
Molly May 2014
Anorexia
is the most deadly mental disorder
and maybe that is why
I tell myself I am fat,
maybe the reason I cry
when I look in the mirror
is because there is
110 pounds
too much of me
95 pounds
too much of me
80 pounds
too much of me,
I will not be content
until there is no weight left to lose,
until this skin is turned cold
and falls off my body,
I will be
counting the ribs you can see
on my corpse.
I will make myself smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until there is nothing left
to take away.
Recovering from one thing only to acquire another. I feel I am predisposed to self-sufficient melancholy.
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