Oh, father.
That little girl,
You met in September.

You left.

Remember?

Without a trace,
Nor a track.
Left mother nothing but a heart attack.

But, father,
Dare I ask?

Is there a chance
You will ever come back?

From your gaze,
To your taste.
Wrapped gently in your embrace.
Gifted me goods,
No other could replace.

Though your words,
Left a trace.
The soul I once embodied ,
Now trashed like waste.

As the taste I once savored,
Now soiled from your flavor.

Why,
Can't I,
Bare the truth?

It seems that the trees
Know more of my roots.

For outside,
Is safe,
To no worries or feuds.

But I,
Must hurry,

To a home with no hue.

i have skimmed every encyclopedia,
have gone through to limits of every book in biology,
and even went on to read depths of psychology,
but i have yet to find an answer
as to why a father could hurt his own daughter

My family doesn't reach out to me,
All weight is on me to say hi.
If I talk too long, outbursts can occur
Contradictions leave me at a loss for words

They want a relationship with fiction,
An image; or story they see me as.
I used to try to fit the frame they made
But doing that lead me down a bitter path

Now I try to accept the reality,
Who I am inside is not enough for them.
When I'm myself, I recieve lots of judgment
Or comments that I don't understand.

At this point
It’s embarrassing
I should have this under control by now
At this point
I’m not even trying to impress anyone
Including myself
At this point
It’s all habit
At this point
I’ve come to accept I may not get better
I googled how many calories a woman my age is supposed to eat in a day
and I don’t even come close to half of those most days of the week
I’m not proud of this
I lie to my fiancé about how much I eat and that I’m full when I’m not
I don’t tell anyone that my stomach hurts all the time
or my intestines, or whatever it is that hurts
I don’t tell anyone that everything I eat I am counting the calories in my mind and calculating just how many steps I need to do tomorrow to counter act the food I just ate
I go to therapy but still haven’t fully brought up my eating disorder
to be honest, I haven’t felt like I should because I’m still up walking around
I still go to work everyday
No one is telling me I look sickly
So I just go with that
But I know the truth
The fact that I feel like crying when I know I haven’t had enough to eat today and yet I make enough money to feed myself
The fact that I have the ability to eat and I love the way certain foods taste & yet I never let myself full enjoy anything
I feel like crying when my stomach hurts so bad I can’t get up off the toilet because my intestines are killing me
I feel like crying when I get a sick satisfaction that I can feel my hip bone pointing out more than usual
I feel like crying when I realize I can’t help myself
At this point
I know better
and yet my brain doesn’t seem to give a ****