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Ronin Jul 1
You tell me
I’m not that skinny
My BMI tells me
I’m way too skinny
You tell me
My waist isn’t that small
The internet tells me
My waist is small enough for modeling
You tell me
Everyone has size 2
Research tells me
The average size is size 12
You tell me
I’m not enough
Yet too much

I tell myself
I’m not enough
Yet too much.
Look at the people around us
Dying, sick, alone
cold
Look at the wondrous things
Some have
money, smiles, ******, and
gold
Surplus of food
thrown all away
So many others still starving
these days
Illness stretches through the earth
And yet for others happiness
They still wander and play
in mirth
Making more sickness
making more death
are you happy now?
That some people no longer have breath?
I need cigarettes
and evenings filled with long sighs

                      and
                                 fragments
                                        mettled
                                          poems
                         and more cigarettes

                          waiting for my angst
                                     to form stanzas

                      tonight I’ll probably just
                                  cough a lot
                                          and go to bed early,

      
            but first I need cigarettes.
oh i’ve been digging.
i don’t smoke cigarettes anymore but its a vibe
this one is a breeze wafting in from a different era
Ella James Apr 12
My body craves it, but I don’t want it

Every time I think of it, I sense the bile in my throat

Don’t give in.  

“I love the feeling, the burning.”

Can’t you tell? I’ve been raised like this

Indulging in the emptiness

Nothingness.

Eat.
Neglect
by Michael R. Burch

What good are tears?
Will they spare the dying their anguish?
What use, our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence of tears
without action?
What help, the eloquence of prayers,
or a pleasant benediction?

Before this day is over,
how many more will die
with bellies swollen, emaciate limbs,
and eyes too parched to cry?

I fear for our souls
as I hear the faint lament
of theirs departing ...
mournful, and distant.

How pitiful our “effort,”
yet how fatal its effect.
If they died, then surely we killed them,
if only with neglect.

Keywords/Tags: neglect, starving, dying, perishing, famine, illness, disease, tears, anguish, concern, prayers, inaction, death
Eleanor Apr 8
"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."
Read full article at: https://everydayfeminism.com/2016/09/parents-taught-disordered-eating/
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