in group therapy
they asked me
when was the last time
i can remember loving my body

i thought about it
for a few moments
was it when
i was in bed with a
random man at the bar
or the time
i won over a man i thought i needed
or what about that one time
i finally fit into a size 3 jeans

no no no
it was not any of those

the last time i can remember
loving my body
was the summer i turned 7
it was a hot summer day
my sister and mother
took me on the ferris wheel
and i was petrified

i did not care to be scared
or show that i was scared
i did not care to live freely
but we all know that does not last forever
life takes over
and
bad things happen
and men take advantage of our bodies
thinking they can own anything
even a little girls body

i think through all of this
over and over
before speaking the words
i cannot remember
the last time i loved my body

Overflowing tears fill her eyes,
as doubt fills inside her mind.
She is overwhelmed and confused,
she is exhausted and tired of being bruised.
However, one things for sure.
She will no longer let her demons get the best of her.
She will no longer stand for a life full of misery and torment.
For she’s now had a taste of pure freedom and forgiveness.
As she is now following her dreams.
Everything is falling into place,
and once again;
she does not want to lose how beautiful her life has become.

"It took me a long time to realize that my partners were having *** with me in part because of the way my body looks, not in spite of the way my body looks."

"Even today, I have a lot of trouble figuring out if I’m hungry or not. I often can’t tell until I’m starving. I don’t trust those little inklings of hunger I have before the starving stage, since anything outside of mealtime is supposed to be quelled by a ******* piece of fruit.

Over time, [I was taught] that I should decide what to eat with my brain, not my stomach. So eventually, my stomach just gave up."

I sit in the shower, wishing for my brain to work the way it should.
I sit in the shower and let the water beat against my face, hoping that will drown out my thoughts and insecurities.
I sit in the shower and cry because I know no one will hear me.
I sit in the shower and question my importance here.
I sit in the shower and gag myself while I sob quietly.
I sit in the shower and take apart razor blades and let them dance across my wrists so that I will stop numbly staring at the shower wall.
I sit in the shower and wonder, if I should really be here tomorrow.
So, how do I tell my friends I sit in the shower?

Bitter sweet air fills my lungs with dignity and doubt all at once.
And although my head knows what needs to be done, the voice inside can no longer be contained.
It screams for a way out.

How can it be? She whispered in silence.
That I have allowed my body, my temple, to be denied of the very things in existence that it needs to survive.