"anorexics" poems
there are some who want a thinner waist
and others who just don't like the taste
of food they feel they do not deserve
some eat cake with their eyes
while others are busy planning their demise
one wants to see bones, another, headstones
one could love themselves if they were just 40 pounds thinner
"maybe i'll love myself if i just skip dinner"
the other has no appetite, a battle with calories she does not fight
a battle, rather, with herself
to **** herself or stay in living hell
too preoccupied to care what is on the pantry shelf
there are some who want a thinner waist
and others who just don't like the taste
of food they feel they do not deserve
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
~ dad said she'd be famous ~
*"...a doctor
or diva
like lena horne,"* he said
he'd been doing odd day jobs
and driving cabs deep into the night
through these mean city streets
since ella's debut
at the apollo
and his smile
grew wider than
jackie o's
reservoir in central park
when this bouncing baby girl
made her grand debut
into his world
the dimples on her
cherub caramel cheeks
were irresistibly pinchable
and those twinkling eyes
knew she'd be spoiled infinitely
like a fruit-fly in a box
of rotten apples
~ reality check ~
....if you look closely
you might still see one dimple;
but the twinkles departed
back in '75
....and the burns
on her fingertips
and blistered lips
....and the bones....
jutting like the bones
of refugees and anorexics
....missing flesh
...and the tracks
on her forearms
and filthy jeans
.....and the eyes....
shifting like the eyes
of senators and thieves
....telling lies
.....and the rotting corpse
in a black garbage bag
in fresh kills
multiple choices removed
from the doctor
and diva of daddy's dreams
hijacked by dream-killers:
*smack
crack
and addiction*
~ P (Pablo)
(8/1/2013)
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
"I love food too much to be anorexic.
Thats the thing,
Anorexics love food.
But with anorexia,
Food is no longer,
Texture,
Smell,
Warmth,
Energy,
Taste.
Food becomes numbers,
Calories,
1000.
800.
600.
200.
Until Calories,
Become chemicals.
Sugar Free Jelly,
Pepsi Max,
Low fat ice-cream.
...
NOTHING.
Anorexia is not about a love,
It is about a hate.
An over-whelming hatred.
For your body,
For your faults,
For yourself.
Starving is merely a symptom.
Too many work out sessions is merely a symptom.
Your thoughts are a poison.
Not your acts."
My name is Athena Grace and I have battle anorexia for 4 years.
I am 16 years old.
At the age of 12 years old my idea of beauty was constructed into something toxic.
On my 12th birthday I was 5'2 and a beautiful 134 pounds.
On my 13th birthday I was 5'3 1/2 and a sliming 112 pounds.
On my 14th birthday I was 5'5 and a stick thin 100 pounds.
On my 15th birthday I was in the hospital. I was 5'5 1/2 and 89 pounds.
On my 16th birthday I was 5'6 and 118 pounds.
I am halfway to my 17th birthday and I am 5'7 feet tall and 105 pounds.
I was getting bad again.
I refuse to get bad again.
I am my own savior, and that is what I have learned.
I will recover.
I will never look at food like you do, but that is okay.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Joy is a
drug,
and I
can't buy it.
More glamorous than
any amount
of *******
but more available
than a breath
of fresh air.
Smiles are
easier to break
than an
Anorexics bones.
Snap,
frowning faces
begin to walk
their steady pace
of
birth to coffin.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Everyone loves to talk ****
Poets
Activists
Novelists
Academics
Professors the most
Summon them up
get a consensus
(the kikuyu are a model
not the annoying vermin of the jewish suburb)
Fear is the core.
America,
Fear is yr core.
Capitalism and all its intricacies
and its lies
its imminent failure
(anorexics in red shirts laugh in hell)
Marx and Chomsky
and Precious
Open a window-
crack that-
BREAK OPEN A WINDOW IN THE WALL
let the mist leave
it will only consume you if you learn to use it instead of oxygen
A clear room will be a safe space
to paint
and film
and write
and dry off
To talk a los otros sobre Spanish y la omkeer
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Nineteen years it's been
And after nineteen years of learning -
Nineteen years of
see-through models,
****** magazines,
and the jutting bones of
anorexics -
After nineteen years of whispered hate,
I believe I have forgotten, dear Mother
what beauty is.
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC
there are loose leaves
at the bottom of my teacup
I rarely finish drinking the thing
- instead I stare through the dark transparent liquid
at barely-floating twiggy tea leaves that
escaped from the bag
I am forgetful
and unforgiving of myself
I am too easily entranced by
lights and thin branches that dance above muddy grass
my eyes see things breathe
like marbled floors and brick buildings
I am so enraptured by rabbit fur
and tree bark
rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and I love the game of seeing how close I can get to them
before they leap away
when I think of bliss,
I think of not knowing what is coming next
more even, not caring
when I think of bliss,
I think of running after rabbits
or petting a tree
I do these things when no one’s looking
so no one catches the crazy in me
there are loose coffee grounds
at the bottom of my mug
caffeine kills me
and I love the taste
of the cruelty
but my body is hurting
again
like last year
where fainting and falling and confusing my words in conversation
arose every time I felt an anxious feeling
nudge its way in deeper
maybe it’s just way of giving up
my body surrendering in complete so that I feel full effect
of how badly I’ve treated it
it’s hurting again
so much that sometimes I can barely get out of bed
or get off the bus
and walk the trek home in the nippy night
I see rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and oh look, I am repeating myself
again
I hardly notice because my head is hurting
like there are a million and one hurricanes
inside of it
less of a crash and more like a rush
there is a difference between headaches
and light headedness
both hurt though
still I’m ashamed I’m lightheaded all the time
there is a weakness in it
that only frail people can relate to,
the scatterbrains, the unconcentrated, the anorexics, the cancer patients
the sick-of-some-sort
what am I?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
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.
.
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
when people get hungry
they eat
when anorexics get hungry
they starve
when bulimics get hungry
they binge
when i get hungry
i...
i want to rip open your torso.
tear out your heart.
eat your very soul.
drink up your tears.
i want to feast.
yet i lay here.
hunger
boiling
up
slowly
getting
worse
over time.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 9:08 PM UTC
I heard about people that cut,
Emos.
I heard about people that put nothing in their gut,
Anorexics.
I heard about people that say if, and or but,
Liars.
I saw someone with emotional pain.
I saw someone with endless shame.
I saw someone trying to keep sane.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
once I was aneroxic
I regale the story to my friends
they ask how do you-?
it takes me a while to answer,
and then I remember
that you tell yourself you’re alright
you’ll do fine,
and you do.
because after a while,
the lie starts coming true.
the thing about us
anorexics, cutters, the depressed
is that we lie.
I still am
I do not remember,
I just bring to attention
the sweet hunger pangs
that encompass me,
envelop me.
These are not my friends,
but people who are thin
people with unblemished skin
people who laugh when I fall
people who make my skin crawl
I leave the table
with excuses of
having too much
to drink
I do not make it to the toilet;
I retch in the sink.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Silly, silly boys in High School
The majority of which show off their upper halves, and lift weights to impress
Silly, silly girls in High School, trying to be in the same in the way that they show skin
Silly, silly children
More, more
We want the outrageous stories, we’ve built up resistance to being impressed
We want more of the world
More skin, more drugs, more drinks
We won’t stop until we’re intoxicated with the world
More technology, more color, more sounds
More movies, more *** more happiness
More starving, more shooting, more ****
More worry, more violence
More
Silly, silly boys in High School
Most girls would prefer a guy who’s not shallow and strong unless the girl is also shallow
But smart mentally, the future of the world
Silly, silly girls
Boys don’t want a **** unless they’re also a ****
They want someone confident and comfortable in their own skin
Someone funny and charismatic
Silly, silly children
Less, less
We’re gobbling up everything in an attempt to be great
But we’re also wasting our resources, moving onto new things
Already bored with our toys
Less water, less food
Less fuel, less cries heard in the night
Less energy, less motivation
Less segregation, less smoking
Less suicide, less anorexics
Less
And soon, if we continue, we’ll be left with nothing
Left for the dead
Silly, silly boys
Silly, silly girls
Silly, silly generation
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
the world's at their feet, they can claim postcards
from anywhere - yet they too are at the world's
something or other - the world shat them out
and they described it politely
as worth the travel... or the world regurgitated
them out and made them say
Rome was infinite in the aristocratic practice
of an **** of anorexics -
the best rhetoric i ever heard
was from a bulimic aristocrat
from Pompeii... hot lava streaks of
half-digested fledglings
of a chiselled rock-face of partially
climbed for a reward of a cupcake...
it took porridge to the new extremes!
seriously - the un-celebrated
masculine with masculine enticed
us into accepting **** without lactose
sugars and a cougar **** of fancy -
trans ****** **** because the masculine
form was asked to be damnable
in homosexual practice -
at least homosexuals practised the celebration
of whole male embodiment, the male
form was celebrated - it isn't now, to be
honest - the male beauty is debased,
once by feminism secondly by trans-gender
politics - of "free speech",
free speech is gone... it went down the sewers
with a ship of pirating rats profiteering from
cowardice and the capitalistic motto:
every tail waggling for the dodo coccyx
to be minded! hushed, the rats jumped ship,
the last idiot, the captain remained,
started snorkelling up pride in the one
constellation he wished to avoid, not east
nor west... but the deepest south of a sinking
ship... the depths gave him reprimand for
honour - an assurance in the form of
costa concordia's schettino breaking
the lineage of accepted convent for the upkeep.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
you heard me correctly darling when i said i was
going camping in the witherness. look in this bag i’ve already
packed sun strokes, swill trunks, an array of emptying
books and a flashlight that projects white moving dogs.
in the witherness, we stack silent burning gavels, achieving
the balance of a permanent new moon. we are arriving
by cheap chernobyl trucks and we’ll know when we’re there when
the engine dies and we open the hood to find a blanket-less
girl. don’t worry, she is environmental. made of mist.
we stomp on her sisters, **** like holy anorexics,
steady our foreheads on the ancient bark of
the witherness (dark hallways in a house of leaves)
Quiet now. lay your spine on eggshells so that your joints
may hatch asterisk chirp double asterisk something
akin to what asteroids do, but with a murmuring whistle
the only noise you can hear at the edge of the witherness.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
it's 10:58 pm here
i have stumbled down the stairs one too many times
and i can see the look on their faces
when i say i'm okay
i'm okay
one too many times seems repetitive
repetition is good
repetition reminds me of the clock ticking inside my head
but the clock counts calories instead of time
as i count the seconds passing through these hunger pains
like contractions
should have bought a pregnancy test today
i didn't
i'm good at not doing things
like going to class
and eating
this bowl of rice and beans
seems all too familiar and i watch myself in the mirror as
i
eat
it's a trick i've learned
it helps me stop
the day i found out spicy food can curb appetite was
revolutionary.
i had always hated it
but sriracha became a new best friend
i've lost 30 pounds in 6 months.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
in terms of plumbing it's called
a plughole, or a brown bear's
hibernation tactic to lick
some fur after binging on salmon
and wildberries...
to you i prescribe poetry...
it's what anorexics seem to crave
when they want to get fat
with fictional prose...
i am prescribing you
a diet of poetry... to get you all
fat prosaics into shape...
byway of treating asthma too...
or what's called: letting wine to
be uncorked and pouring it
into an aquarium to whisper a little
about its possible scents enclosed
prior to intoxication...
while disclosing that there was
a goldfish named Bob in the aquarium
while this was going on...
and he said: looking at my fishy lips:
call me... bubblegum.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
a 1992 film? **** me, what could it be?
oh wait, i know...
white men can't jump...
they should have a sequal to that ****
titled, black men can't swim...
or at least give them a slot
in the para-olympics. **** you!
how about you jump into a jacuzzi
with a bunch of japanese macaques,
and take baby steps... like... treading water...
white boy over here,
can float in a swimming pool,
fully extended, lying down...
like a full-fat piece of ****
i fuck-as-hell someone has the ***** to make
a film, entitled black men can't swim;
**** just sinks... or belongs with
the para-olympians from kazahstan
with... hopefully two legs, and one arm;
yes! yes! it would be ****** to compete
with an anchor's worth of torso, and no limbs.
well... they can run... for sure...
all the excess ******* endowment the white
girl like to exploint for one night stands...
well... a massive buttocks as shown by
black girls... **** me... that'll get you
sprinting, up to the speed, of a cheetah!
you really need buttock fat to move
those legs like that...
wait wait... why are all the kenyans
and ethiopans, the anorexics of the black
species?
every time i watch them at the olympics
i'm starting to imagine the holocaust,
cocentration camps, jews, picking up pebbles
and rocks, and saying:
this ought to be a coin (pebble) and this
out to be a banknote (rock)...
i'd love to write something on l.s.d.,
but this is already equivalent to l.s.d.
big *** big ****
run forest! run!
fair enough for the trans-ethnic one-night
stands... if i could do it with a black girl with a tiny
*** a white girl can do it with
a massive elephant trunk...
i'm not bothered... i got my ***
&... my sense of humour.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC