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Jack Radbourne Jul 2019
good old television
or televisions plural because
this shop window has
twenty-two of them
all showing a celebrity
cooking show twenty-two

identical pans containing
the same cuts of chicken
or maybe pork or whitefish
being lightly browned while
no voice can be heard from
the twenty-two tanned faces

smiling out at us and
here the homeless man
watches them all from the
pavement and the rain
good old television
something for everyone
What surprises me is that even after well over a thousand views nobody has liked or loved or commented on this poem........ Can it be that bad?

~for Bill T. Jones~

two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts

I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.

examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.

awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.

the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
Breanna W May 2019
We are not afraid of the mirror,
We are afraid of the monster it shows.
We are afraid of porcelain skin
stained red,
afraid of never finding the bone,
afraid of never finding the very
core essence of our control.
I am afraid of being too much,
of not being enough,
of this skinny love
for a non-skinny reflection,
afraid of failing
if I am never able to see
my porcelain bones
imprinted on porcelain skin,
my very core
protruding from within.

I am my own control.
and one day,
I shall see it in the mirror,
even if I have to fall into it
and become the monster within.
This is super negative, but it's what I'm feeling right now so I put it up anyways.
Eleanor Feb 2019
Mum, there's one thing i don't want you to hear,
it's that food doesn't make me grin from ear to ear,
it makes me terrified of the voice inside,
wanna crawl into my bed and hide,
and cry and cry about my outside,
until there's silence from the voice inside.

But it's never silence,
just a pause,
'til it grabs me again with it's awful claws,
scratches me and makes me bleed,
bruises me until i plead,
and remind myself that i agreed,
pain until I'm skinny, please.

I'm fat i know, i don't need to be told,
I'm tall and only 16 years old,
I'm a child yes, but you never scold,
because a good girl you did mold,
i used to get good grades and study hard,
now all i am is a bunch of lard,
i still study hard but i am scarred,
by the voice that tells me,
i'll never reach that bar.

I try and try but don't succeed,
i wish i could follow my brother's lead,
all the way to university,
getting himself a good degree,
a 50,000+ salary,
but the closest i'll get to that salary,
is a salad.
so i'll sit here munching rabbit food,
while you're thinking that i'm being rude,
for not sitting at the table with you,
while you EAT you're normal human food.

Why is EAT such a hard word to say?
it's three simple letters, just E, T and A,
combined and jumbled in three different ways,
EAT, tea and ATE are the things you can say,
but the latter word causes dismay,
sending my mind into disarray,
ana is here, she's here to stay,
reminding me there's no other way,
i must put down the food,
say i'm not hungry today,
go a little longer,
fast just one more day.
Asominate Jan 2019
I feed my habits
And ignore my needs
As distasteful as it seems
My plan succeeds
I plant the seeds
That grow the weeds
Won't feed myself
I starve, deceased.
Angela Dec 2018
Dating as a single parent is a strange thing.
You have to open yourself
And learn to trust someone new
And new is petrifying
But when you do
It feels like you're suspended in air.
Your heart is again warm, your belly full of butterflies.
A kind of feeling your children cannot give you.
Something different.
Everything is perfect
And then something changes.
Suddenly theyre not there
A void is once again opening
Your presence is no longer welcomed
And you cant explain it because they wont.
Sleep eludes you like a promised meteor shower on a cloudy night.
Food now feels like poison on its journey to your starving stomach.
Your body is weak from the malnutrition that this love was feeding your soul.
The trust you gave them is now shattered
And all of the words you heard from your past comes alive and deafens you once again
"Youre nothing without me"
"No one will ever love you"
"You'll be a young single parent and no one wants that"
Doubt will crush your soul
Again
And again
And again.
But you remember.
Youre a mother.
The bringer of life
And snacks.
You have dried tears and kissed ouchies
You have been the protector of your children
And now, you have to be the protector of yourself.
One day you'll wake up,
A little lighter
A little hungier
A little happier
Pyrrha Dec 2018
You saw them suffering everyday as you passed by
So somedays you threw money in their little tin can
But their pain lies far beneath the surface
Homelessness is an illness that costs more than pocket change to cure
Starvation and injustice can't be paid with a full tin can
Their lifestyles cant be changed with ten thousand cans of change
Brando Dec 2018
It’s been 48 hours since food last touched my lips
48 hours of pain and starvation
I don’t mean to starve myself
I just can’t help it
I look at myself in the mirror;
With disgust and disapproval
I am not choosing the hunger
But when I look at food, I automatically become sick
I think of the times I’ve cried over my body
The hours I’ve spend ridiculing every stretchmark,
Fat roll,
Wrinkle,
Every inch of myself that is less than subpar in my eyes
Do you think I want to be like this?
I sit and sleep;
instead of eat
My stomach growls
Sounds like thunder on a dry summers day
Speaking to me and telling me to stop being a ******* idiot
I tell you I haven’t eaten and your response is clear
But what does it matter to me what you think
At the end of the day you aren’t the one whose hungry
You aren’t the one who pushes her body to the point of breaking all in the name of beauty
Oh to be beautiful
Seems so easy
Especially when those words roll off your tongue
But I flinch in pain
As my body begins to eat itself
And you sense something is wrong
I tell you I’m fine
But based off the look on my face;
you know it’s not just a stomach ache
stepped on the scale today and I cried.
i hunger for something i cannot ingest
not because i will choke on it
or because i am allergic to it
not because of its rarity
or because it is unethical to produce

but because
without having tasted it
i began to want it and crave it
without knowing its name
i began to dream about making and consuming it
without even knowing its ingredients
the longing for it began to consume me

i began to starve for its softness between my lips
its give between my bared teeth
its flavor on the tip of my tongue
the aftertaste of its broth in the hollow of my throat

i began to daydream about its weight in my stomach
making me feel comfortable full and yet unbloated
i would eat it for every meal and be satisfied
if i could just find it

at night i lay awake
close my eyes and lick my lips
trying to recall that heavenly taste
i cannot gain access to sleep until i remember it just right
and when i do i dream of devouring it

the thoughts devour me
my stomach caves in
and my ribs and hipbones poke through my
translucent skin
but i will not eat again
not until i found this food
that floods my starving brain
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