#anorexiarecovery - Hello Poetry

How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence. How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life. You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace. Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.

0

Jul 26, 2021

Jul 26, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC

PinkNectarine

Dear Anorexia

How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence. How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life. You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace. Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.

4

i put my pen to paper and try to conjure beauty but there's nothing beautiful about yellow teeth nothing beautiful about your stomach groaning in large groups about falling asleep starving about eating tissue paper to stop feeling hungry nothing beautiful about looking at an apple and seeing 60 or half an hour of push ups and not a ******* apple nothing beautiful about bleeding knuckles and pounding heads about ***** in whatever hair is left because it's all on your bathroom floor about light fur growing on your arms and legs grown by your body to keep you warm nothing beautiful about feeling dizzy, always about fainting on the treadmill and getting a rugburn on your face from the pressure nothing beautiful about tubes in your nose feeding you sugar water about sharp ankles on cold scales about needles in arms about shaking uncontrollably nothing beautiful about cold. and there's nothing beautiful about death.

0

Feb 21, 2020

Feb 21, 2020 at 1:40 PM UTC

wintergirl

the most glorified illness (tw)

36

sometimes, i miss being sick. i miss the feeling of my sharp ankles on the cold scale. the scale has been hidden from my judgemental eyes. i miss the automatic caloric calculator, the blinding neon-sign. it's still there, always and impossible to ignore, like television subtitles. but i eat anyway. i miss the feeling of my jeans becoming baggier around pencil legs. yesterday i had to go to american eagle to buy the same pair of ripped jeans, two sizes larger than what i was a year ago. i miss the blue polka-dot Tupperware in the farthest corner of my closet that i used to erase the shame of feeling full. i can't have containers anywhere in my bedroom. i miss the feeling of drinking so much water that my body becomes a shallow pool that my insides float in. i have a limit on the amount of fluids i can consume in a day. i miss walking into a meal knowing exactly how to eliminate all of it, without question. now when i do behaviors i feel the shame of my whole family in my chest. i miss karaoke nights. i can't sing any of the songs i did in the hospital. it just feels wrong. i miss sitting in a circle of other sick girls and forgetting, for a moment. they're in different places all over the world, enjoying life as recovered anorexics. i miss staying up late talking to my roommate and questioning whether recovery is worth it, or even possible. she's in california with her girlfriend, enjoying being alive. i miss licking salt of ice cubes. everything is locked into safes. but mostly, i miss you. you're gone. .

0

Jan 6, 2020

Jan 6, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC

wintergirl

relapse - trigger warning

sometimes, i miss being sick. i miss the feeling of my sharp ankles on the cold scale. the scale has been hidden from my judgemental eyes. i miss the automatic caloric calculator, the blinding neon-sign. it's still there, always and impossible to ignore, like television subtitles. but i eat anyway. i miss the feeling of my jeans becoming baggier around pencil legs. yesterday i had to go to american eagle to buy the same pair of ripped jeans, two sizes larger than what i was a year ago. i miss the blue polka-dot Tupperware in the farthest corner of my closet that i used to erase the shame of feeling full. i can't have containers anywhere in my bedroom. i miss the feeling of drinking so much water that my body becomes a shallow pool that my insides float in. i have a limit on the amount of fluids i can consume in a day. i miss walking into a meal knowing exactly how to eliminate all of it, without question. now when i do behaviors i feel the shame of my whole family in my chest. i miss karaoke nights. i can't sing any of the songs i did in the hospital. it just feels wrong. i miss sitting in a circle of other sick girls and forgetting, for a moment. they're in different places all over the world, enjoying life as recovered anorexics. i miss staying up late talking to my roommate and questioning whether recovery is worth it, or even possible. she's in california with her girlfriend, enjoying being alive. i miss licking salt of ice cubes. everything is locked into safes. but mostly, i miss you. you're gone. .

13