If I stop eating
will by body grow thin enough
that I could unravel?
That I could pick
at all these snagged imperfections
puckering my skin
until one comes loose
and I can pull it until I am entirely undone?
Until I tumble to the ground and blow away?

If i stop eating
will this rumbling
fill up my whole body?
Will this hunger,
that gnaws at my stomach,
grow larger than I have ever been?
Grow large enough to swallow me up?
To eat me whole
and dissolve me into nothing?

And then wander on....
a howling desolation
where a human used to be
that grows more grotesque
each moment.
Who's appetite grows continually
more appalling,
until it has consumed everything that surrounds it,
until it stands alone in a wasteland howling,
screeching,
disfiguring itself
until it dies from starvation, or auto-cannabalism
or until it is put down
like a rabid animal.

if you were a poem,
you would be a poem about a plane
grounded,,
wanting to be in the sky,
wishing, waiting, willing
knowing
that someday you'll be flying high

and if I were a poem
i would be a poem about a bird
drifting,,
dreaming of the land
wishing, waiting, willing
wary
and unsure of where I stand

but you are not a poem
and to be honest, neither am I
for I am just a poet
but someday
we will fly**

((and even though, we are not the same
my emotions drift like sand
i find my peace close to you
my heart safe within your hand))