They Say Im 'Anorexic'
My yellowing skin is thinning now, dragged tight over my brittle bones,
And pinned in places where it tore, and stapled poorly,sharp on stone,
Alone with the glint of the looking-glass, in a lurid chamber far from home,
My paper heart flapping in it's hollow mould, I'm 'Anorexic', so I'm told..
Snaked over my arms and feet, like rustling demons, underneath these sheets,
They drape the wires forcing food, they rob me of my choice to eat,
Meaningless, bleak existence, for the frustration of a deep control,
To be in charge, of who I was, and achieve my strictest goals,
Now nothing is within my power, they broke, they beat, they ripped me down,
They spat on all my effort, they hid my dignity beneath this dappled gown.
I hate the obese teenager, that extends her tongue as I dare a glance,
Her tumbling curves, her teasing eyes, that embarrass me, that boyish stance,
That lax and loathsome habit, the daily binge, the evening purge,
The weakness of her oily heart, the futility of that consuming urge.
My progress here is limited, and will be until I make them see..
The fat girl in the mirror, that nobody notices... but me.
Reply With Quote
