When I was very young, I started to develop an eating disorder.

I was a toddler. My parent's first child and I went mental when they tried to serve me vegetables.

I would discard them in the radiator and sooner than later a technician was called.

And my parent's were appalled when they realized the reason was that their child refused to eat what she was served.

This continued into early childhood.

I lived with my grandmother who I've called Grandy forever.

She made the same three dishes every week. Macaroni Pie, Rice, or Potatoes.

On the odd occasion,  I would get pizza or pasta.

Macaroni and Cheese, or something else that pleased my taste buds.

I quickly tired of this pattern and a disgust for these meals arose.

I could no longer eat them without wanting to *****.

When I was no older that four years old, my parents tried to feed me a few days or a week old alphageti. That was the first time I ever gaged on a meal.

But those moments came more often than I would like as I grew.

I filled up on chocolates and candy, slices of pepperoni so I wouldn't have to eat the **** I din't like.

This distaste of my Grandy's food turned into a fear of food itself.

I couldn't be experimental, I hated having to eat.

I wished I could just take a pill and defeat the hunger that haunted me.

For years I became anorexic. And not because I wanted too, but because for all that time food was my enemy.

When I was in daycare, I hated sweets of any kind and had never had a sip of soda. But once night when my parents were late to pick me up.

All Dee had was marshmellows and seven up.

I hated the sweet treats that would burn my teeth and the soda that would burn my tongue.

But I was young and no one cared.

I didn't allow myself to eat for several years until I ended up falling in love with a girl who cares.

But some nights when I am drunk and to lazy too cook,

I find myself in the kitchen eating an uncooked hot dog,  

and I remember where it all came from.

I still hate sweets and soda to this day.

But at least now,

I eat.

I remember the feeling.
Like I was getting rid
Of every foul thing inside me.
I would feel so-
Empty.
But at the time
It was better than feeling everything.
And sometimes I would just lay there
And I would cry.
I was so ashamed
Of my bathroom coping mechanisms.
Brush my teeth
So the acid wouldn't make them yellow.
Appearances seemed to be important.
Had to be thin,
Had to be empty.

I didn't realize then
That I was wasting away
That there was another way
To purge my feelings.
But I know now.
I know now.

You saved me.

Is there a goal plan for how many miles to run
Before I don't hate seeing myself naked?
Do the months I pay for a gym membership
Get cashed in for a few more nights of feeling worthy
than I normally have?
Is there a sports bra to hold in the cravings?
Or even just to do what its designed to.
I never really understood sports bras.
What diet do I need to go on
so that I can love myself again?

Stickers and wires riddle your chest
Complicatedly tethering you to your room,
Where you watch the morning news in socks,
Pairs of socks and blankets
That can’t stop the coldness of the tile
From slipping through your skin,
Goosebumps, the cold grabs hold of your leg
And pulls it out from under you.
Cold, when the needle enters your skin,
Even colder, waiting for someone,
Clean sheets but not like home
Fresh pressed and sanitized,
Tube up your nose, down your throat,
A get well soon card watches.

tell me to stop getting distracted
because it's so easy for you to say that
tell me to stop binge eating
because it's so easy for you to say that
tell me to stop overthinking things
because it's so easy for you to say that
tell me to stop getting scared
because it's so easy for you to say that
it's like you think i want to be like this
if i could stop then i would
it's harder than it seems
when i think about the word stop
the only think i can think about it to stop living

I ate away the ****.
I ate away the abuse.
I ate away the depression.
I tried eating away the pain.
But now I can't keep eating.
Because of the words that you threw around like it was nothing.
Fat. Disgusting. Ugly.
I'm not sad and beautiful.
Like the girls you write the stories about.
Because my self harm was my comfort food.
The way your self harm was the lack of food.
I punished my body everytime I climbed stairs.
And I knew I deserved it.
Except now at my lowest,
I can't afford a salad.
Or a donut to find the seratonin that I crave.
And the only thing I want to eat now
Is a bullet.

my body weighs more than a number.

my body is the weight of the sea -- the stars, moon, and galaxies dancing around the corners of my soul.

my body weighs more than a number.

my worth is the airplane rides, deep conversations, dancing, laughing, crying.

my body weighs more than a number.

my legs have taken me across worlds of sea, land, and mountains.
my arms have hugged. my lips have kissed. my hair has been washed in salt water and seaweed. my fingers have playing white and black keys, painted, created and traced the corners of his palms.

my body weighs more than a number.
my value weighs more than a number.
I am m o r e than a number.