It's not an addiction,
Really it's not.
But that mirror,
It's a source of affliction.

Not long ago,
I could look in that mirror
And see nothing wrong at all,
But now I've got nothing to show.

The pressure to be perfect,
It tears away at my body.
At first it looked like nothing,
But it had a side effect.

I wanted to be one of them,
One of those girls everyone envied.
But the price to pay was my body,
Not a small pretty diamond gem.

It was never enough,
No matter what I did.
The skipped meals
Turned my image rough.

But will it ever be worth it?
I stare and ask myself.
My image in the mirror,
Kept begging just to quit.

It became a nightly thing,
Standing on that scale.
And I was pleased to see
That the pounds kept dropping.

My hair was starting to thin.
My bones began to show.
Everything was different.
The desire was starting to win.

The pain I was putting myself through,
The constant suffering,
Everything was just a blur,
But nobody ever knew.

I don't starve anymore,
But I could if I tried.
It was a part of my life,
Now just a closed door.

It's not an addiction,
Really, it's not.
But that mirror,
It's a source of affliction.

When will it stop?
The constant, confusing whiplash
Of hatred
Of acceptance
Of compelled shoving fingers down your throat
Of etching paintings into your skin, with a pointed brush
If only to release
When will it stop?
The hypocrisy of trying to help someone
When you can barely help yourself
Sitting in front of a screen, telling them it'll all be fine
But you have a blade in your hands
And a finger in your throat
When will it stop?
The vicissitude of everyday
Blythe simplicity on one
Slowly killing yourself the next
The good days, I'm able to have a painful relationship with food
Thinking, but not acting
Even if for an hour
For that hour, I am whole and I am free
But the bad days, silent ruminations engulf my head
Of painting scarlet
And expelling
When will it stop?
The compulsions taking over me

I need help
so I yell and I scream at them
until my lungs give up
and my heart gives out.
silently wishing, hoping
they’ll understand that
I’m not a terrible person.
I’m just hurting

I need help
so I etch the pain into my skin
pleading, begging, praying
for someone to notice the glaring welts

I need help
so I skip one meal
then three
make a chart for the weights
and the calories
waiting to reach the impossible goal

I need help
but I shake in my seat
suffocating in my own lungs
tumbling out of control
I grip my seat so tight my knuckles turn white
wait until
my breath hitches,
my breathing stops

In the mirror's reflection, a distorted self,
A quiet struggle unfolds, invisible to others.
Every meal becomes a battleground,
Where thoughts race too fast,
feeding fears and doubts.
The mind spins in a relentless cycle,
Chasing illusions of control and worth.
Yet within this turmoil, a fragile hope emerges,
A gentle promise that healing is possible,
And a brighter path awaits beyond the shadows.
Don't know what's going on,
you only know that your brain is on fire,
you can't think right because you're thinking a thousand miles an hour.

Some people know what it’s like
To feel a knot in the back of your throat
To feel that knot untying, loosening a seam
To know that there’s a hole  
To try and fill that hole
To know that there’s a hole that cannot be filled
To try and fill that hole.

Some people know what it’s like
To feel that brief blissful void
To know the release into nothingness
To think without weight
Only to become heavier.

Some people know what it’s like,
To want to be like them
To wait to be like them
To try to be like them, effortlessly
To fail to be like them, painstakingly.

And some People know, they are not alone

Oh
to be the girl in those adverts ,
Light,
skinny,
beautiful
A tragic line
to every gentle rib
I fetishise her fragile fingers
A monstrous beast reflected in the mirror, the worst possibility.

Tis poetic, there she stares
Says her lines; remaining fair,
Into my face, My acting is heavy handed and awkward
She’s a consumable reality,
She’s easy on the eyes
The fragile female,
salvageable.

We are a tragedy of ages, her Juliet, I Faustus
They silently boo while I slop onto the stage
A lazy slob,The **** of society, just don’t eat you fat ****. men like curvy girls We don’t want to see you, You’re so brave!  You’re the problem, it’s not hard hide your mass from view, unkempt, repulsive, vile. hide yourself it offends my sharp eyes.
I open my drooling mouth to speak, but there are chins smothering my mouth
My eyes clouded by greasy cellulite
I don’t want to exist like this.

So just stop eating.


I’d give an arm and a leg,
my pale teeth,
my parasitic possibility
my child