In the middle of the night I awoke

With a lion growling in my stomach
So carefully and without a sound,
I made my way upstairs and into the kitchen
To fetch a delicious snack for this lion
That calls itself my stomach

As I opened the refrigerater
And as the pale white light it emitted
Illuminated the room,
My eyes began to scan the shelves for something to eat.
When all of the sudden
They landed on a strange
Blackish-
brownish-
greenish
Lump.

What is this strange lump?
I thought to myself.
So with the bravery of a thousand warriors,
I extended my arm
And lifted the container.
I removed the lid.
And inside
What I found
Was

What used to be an avocado.

I went back to bed.

The people talked to you again today.
You said they made fun of your body.
The only thing in your eyes was humiliation.
You told me they make you feel ugly.

But baby, I know you don't see what I do.
Because anything that is beautiful.
People want to break.
Unfortunately, you are beautiful.

You told me that you're ashamed of your body.
They said you're disgusting.
They told you that you were fat and unworthy.
But I'll love you no matter what form you take.

But baby, I know you don't see what I do.
Because anything that is beautiful.
People want to break.
Unfortunately, you are beautiful.

You need to realise one of these days.
The body you have.
Is the perfect one to me.
You are beautiful.

Have you ever felt empty inside?
Have you ever felt that  feeling of nothingness in the pit of your stomach
and it just stays and lingers for a little while,
you can't tell if it's from the lack of emotions or food.
You say you have it under control when really it has control
One bite and your thighs are like balloons blowing up
Two bites and you are suddenly 10 pounds heavier.
Have you ever felt That beautiful feeling of a hot cup of tea going down your empty stomach almost as a warmth, cause it may be July but you are just so cold.
The concealers you use on your knuckles to hide the marks of when your teeth hit cause your finger
just can't empty out all the hate you have filling your stomach
this isn't a poem about getting better.
This is a poem of what it's like without the better ending
the story of the girl who starved her self with a plate before her.
How selfish she was.

you call me *****
label me with broad brushstrokes
to paint onto the tableau of
my life a permanent stain where
you think i don't already see one.

the joke's on you.

trying to sully an already *****
contaminated crime scene
you won't wipe away fingerprints
seared into my skin
by those who also
saw me as that *****
were you disappointed when you saw
i already had ruby red marks
of hands wrapped around my neck?
because your flying shrapnel
accusations make me wonder
if you wish you had
gotten there first.

*****.

though the declaration stings
it certainly doesn't take me
by surprise when i
see that word stamped across my
forehead any time i look in the mirror
the syllable lives between my legs
and bleeds my secret shame
but i can't let you see me cry
i can't let you know it hurts
i can't let on that i would do
anything to purge this stain.

how could you understand
that i see my reflection in
***** in the toilet so i
shove my fingers farther down
my throat to recreate
that feeling of drowning
the gags that created me.

*****.

i want to blame that
violation
or even my erratic neurotransmitters
for morphing that flaxen-haired
nice girl
into the gnarled old
shame-riddled creature who sits
silently before you
being named *****.

but it was no one else who
led myself to this place
who traversed dimly-lit rooms
of iniquity
and was reborn as this contemptible creature
i take up my cross
my new mantle
my ******* scarlet letter.

you make me want
to run through the streets screaming
to stand on a street corner
preaching the gospel
of my culpability
have you heard the news
of our ****** executioner
the *****
the label feels even more
familiar than my own name.

i don't deserve a name.

take my clothing and dress me
in rags
strip me of my name and address me
only as *****
my life will now be only
passive acceptance and
those hands will explore my hidden places
though they are as unknown
as Disneyland on a gilded
summer day
but you can watch my searing shame
in the invisible white hot tears
only i know.

don't touch the *****
or you might fall victim to
my contagious disease
of optics and opinion
myself the lowest caste of society
relegated to empty halls
and abandoned structures
where i am abandoned as well.

you seem surprised that
the *****
would be fiercely independent
would be accustomed to
being alone
but who stays with a *****?
who takes her home to
meet the family
my independence was merely
an adaptation
Darwinian evolution ensuring
i would survive
to suffer another day
another trial
another sentence.

i understand now why
criminals are handed
multiple life sentences
because i'm punished daily
deservedly so
i would **** myself and if
i came back i would
cry out for more
more pain
more lashes
lay me bare and cut the skin from
my bones and call me *****
never stop
never let me forget
what is burned into the back of
my eyelids
a memory connected to
that word
my name.

i was given that name
by violating vandals
who spray painted my guilt
all over myself
and i can't escape that night
whenever i close my eyes and
pray i won't wake up
or pray i'll wake up in some other body
uncontaminated
a form that was never touched
virginal purity i wish i could
somehow repackage and
re-insert into my ****
to purify the orifice of all
those who branded me
*****
the mantle i took on myself
and made manifest.