You fill your body until you can't anymore
You take one look in the mirror and you know what you have to do
You jump in the shower and turn on some music to deaden the sound of your sickness
You put your fingers down your throat and watch the evidence of your sickness go down the drain
You know you shouldn't be doing this, but you can't stop yourself from doing it
You feel so much better afterwards, so you keep the cycle going
You crawl into bed after you finish your shower
You close your eyes and try to go to sleep
You drift off for awhile until it is time to get rid of your sickness again
You tell yourself this time is the last time, even though you know that is a lie
You know you can't stop
You are sick, and you have to get rid of your sickness
You need help, but you can't tell anyone about your sickness or they will judge you
Your sickness has consumed your life now
You can't stop the sickness

That was the summer our electric bill went up
because as soon as the sun went down
I would light up mirrors
that I stared down for hours
in hopes that I would lose

My self esteem
with every inch I lost
from my arms, legs, fingers, chest,
but if I could just take a few more
from my waist then I would be

Mentally unstable and out of control
as I stay in line with 1,200 calorie days
and sit-ups before bed
because a coworker offered me a cookie
and I couldn't say

No one should have to feel like they're dying
in order to feel beautiful
but how can you fly
when your wings are too heavy
to get off the

Ground level is where I am right now
but at this point I'm used
to taking the stairs
so the top doesn't look
too far away anymore

Sweat swallows my skin
Pain in my chest has burned for ten minutes straight
I cannot stop
One more
One more
One more
always one more sit up
Throw up one more time
Skip one more meal
I have loved boys with ******* addictions and girls who didn't even have the intention of remembering my name let alone be my friend
Yet, I still can't learn to love my body
As I look in the mirror
Salt soaked tears flow down my face
I pull at my skin like maybe if I pull hard enough it'll rip off
My brain is bashing against the side of my heads crying and screaming and begging me to stop
The same head tells me
I'm too heavy
Too big
Too wide
Too this
Too that
let me just say I'm ******* sick of being "too"
I'm ready to gain back my years I lost to calories
Gain back the hours of sleep I lost thinking about how much I ate
Gain back all the times I put myself down just to lose one more pound
I don't know how
But I'm through living in a world of "too"s and "one more"s

Tiny, small, sad, and meek
I haven’t eaten in a week
Afraid I’ll gain another pound
Why can’t I just ******* drown?
Fat, fat, fat is all I see
This is the 5th time today that I can’t ******* breathe
Can’t stand to gain more weight
For I’m already too heavy at one hundred and eight.

so this isn't really a poem buuuuut i need to rant so yaaah

let's talk about the boring part of eating disorders, the parts that are never thought of because they seem absurd, or maybe they don't seem absurd, maybe they are so minuscule that they aren't even thought of...until you go through with it. how about the part where some days, you're doing so well. you eat. and you actually WANT to eat more. the thoughts of not eating aren't there because for a little bit, you're feeling comfortable in your own skin. you think, "hey.. i must be cured!" THENN the other days. the days you're all alone all day, with your thoughts only. when you eat, but are instantly full. wellll, maybe you aren't full, but your mind has decided enough is enough.  but of course, you have to eat... so you do. you entertain your thoughts. you remember why you feel so body confident, so happy/satisfied in your skin. it's because of the progress you've made throughout the years. the hard work you've put into your body............but you can't give up. so you don't. you sit and sulk "will this meal change my body?" and you know that that ONE meal won't, but it's the fact that you'll have to say that..everyday... and that adds up

I can not follow you through the holes and lanes of the skinny people, the ones you glide effortlessly through with no concern for leaving me behind.

I knew she planned on staying.
When she unpacked her belongings.
Mia told me she wasn't playing.
This time, she would cause the falling.

She woke me up the first night,
After he ran away.
Mia's chapped lips whispered our old times,
She reminded me of tooth decay.

For the next few days, Mia was my shadow.
Her doe-eyes trailed my every course.
Waiting patiently for me to plateau,
Before attacking without remorse.

Mia told me she was mending my cuts,
My battered heart, and my sliced legs.
She was making me whole with every hiccup.
He may have left, but she was here to stay.

We held hands throughout the store.
She helped me buy my favorite treats.
Binging together before locking the door.
Purging never tasted so sweet.

Mia held my hair and my pink tongue.
Her fingernails made my throat bleed.
Convinced me secrecy made this fun.
Our kneeling prayers were a mystery.

She wiped my tears with her acidic hands,
And whispered how much she missed me.
Mia uttered how only she would understand
My longing and misery.

I love you
because I know
you want
to take this from me
and say
“Let me do this for you.”
even though
I know and you know
you can’t.
It’s a nice sentiment, though
made nicer by the fact
we both know
“It’s okay. I can.”
Just hold my hand.

We are the field of flowers. Society, the weeds.
They have an unhealthy obsession with the flowers.
Prickly vines, ripping open the silk petals.
The teardrops dripping to the filthy dirt, slowly sinking further.
Flowers have this dry chalky taste from being smothered by the ground.
The bitter sweet sound from being simply buried.
Weeds want to smell the absence of breath in the stems.
The Plastics ruling their high school kingdom.
Decorated vines. Vultures, waiting for an innocent death.
Kicking us when we are already down.
So done
More and more billboards killing little girls.
“Sometimes you are putting more into it than you could ever get back out.”
The silent thunder of hatred.
The fake love shown by the weeds.
The plastics shrinking everyone to the size of flowers,
So they can tear them from their roots and put them in their hair.
Quiet Girl hiding away, terrified of peoples opinions.
Eventually Quiet Girl will be worn as an accessory in the Plastics hair.
The dark lightning of reality.
“You are like the missing word in sentence, pointless.”
Hakuna Matata,
Doesn’t exist.
The flowers scream. The weeds are too strong.
Little girls ***** fingernails scrambling to dig up their busted petals.