me, moon, a 13 year old young boy who ate happily and had eyes filled with love and dreams,
had stretch marks.
me, moon, knew they were there but started feeling ashamed when someone pointed them out.
me, moon, a almost 17 year old boy who now passes on dinner and lunch and breakfast.
i ate two rice cakes a day and feeling the lemon water i religiously drank make it's way down my throat, splashing around in my stomach made the corners of lips turn upwards.
me and food have never held hands.
we never closed our eyes at the delight of the smells of cake and food made by my mother.
for when i was hungry,
i remembered my mother telling me how thin i look and how pretty i looked.
i wanted that all the time.
me, moon, doesn't give into food.
this isn't that good