"reich" poems - Hello Poetry

8th grade. That was the year everything went to hell. That was the year I went on a diet. I decided to shed my last shred of dignity, along with 60+ pounds in order to impress the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year I lied to my parents. "Did you eat dinner?" they asked. "Yes," I replied, and they believed me. They couldn't tell that something wasn't quite right with their perfect little girl, who was starving for the perfect body, and for attention from the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year teachers began to ask questions. Mr. May, with the spiky hair and burly arms, glanced suspiciously at my pale skin, eerily translucent and decorated with bruises. Mrs. Fitz, who had recently been on a diet herself, always made sure that I had a lunch, although she never made sure I ate it. Mrs. ***** a small woman with a big personality, used to make comments about eating disorders just to get a rise out of me, and when that didn't work, she went a step farther. Mr. Daley, the 7th and 8th grade guidance counselor, consumed every lie I fed him, and when I grabbed a Jolly Rancher off his desk on my way back to class, he smiled with triumph, as if he had cured me, but he didn't see me throw it away as soon as I got home. Those extra 15 calories would have ruined my chances with the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year I couldn't leave the house without a sweater because, even on the warmest day, I couldn't stop shivering. That was the year all of my hair fell out. That was the year I lost most of my friends. That was the year everything went to hell because of a boy with dark, curly hair.

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Jun 9, 2013

Jun 9, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC

briana4545

The Boy with the Dark, Curly Hair

8th grade. That was the year everything went to hell. That was the year I went on a diet. I decided to shed my last shred of dignity, along with 60+ pounds in order to impress the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year I lied to my parents. "Did you eat dinner?" they asked. "Yes," I replied, and they believed me. They couldn't tell that something wasn't quite right with their perfect little girl, who was starving for the perfect body, and for attention from the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year teachers began to ask questions. Mr. May, with the spiky hair and burly arms, glanced suspiciously at my pale skin, eerily translucent and decorated with bruises. Mrs. Fitz, who had recently been on a diet herself, always made sure that I had a lunch, although she never made sure I ate it. Mrs. ***** a small woman with a big personality, used to make comments about eating disorders just to get a rise out of me, and when that didn't work, she went a step farther. Mr. Daley, the 7th and 8th grade guidance counselor, consumed every lie I fed him, and when I grabbed a Jolly Rancher off his desk on my way back to class, he smiled with triumph, as if he had cured me, but he didn't see me throw it away as soon as I got home. Those extra 15 calories would have ruined my chances with the boy with the dark, curly hair. That was the year I couldn't leave the house without a sweater because, even on the warmest day, I couldn't stop shivering. That was the year all of my hair fell out. That was the year I lost most of my friends. That was the year everything went to hell because of a boy with dark, curly hair.