tw eating disorder
it comes to fruition in my shaking hands, dry lips
and my hair curling onto pillows and around my fingertips
but it starts in the mirrors/ when my eyes begin to turn away from the woman in my reflection/when the mud and clay that moulds her flesh is colored by imperfections
and then it turns into triple vision/my bones are weary and my tongue feels heavy and thick in my mouth and for all that my body is dead my brain is alive and she's screaming and crying and begging me not to give in to the exhaustion
she begs me not to eat
and so i don't/ day on day on day on day i just drink tea to fill the well my stomach is becoming/ and i hope that well grows its own gravity and sucks the arbitrary away and maybe then i'll be skinny
maybe then i'll be perfect
YOU ARE READING
tyrants
Poetrythe kind of love i've been dreaming of 2018 - 2023 #29 in poetry, 2nd april 2023 #56 in prose, 23rd may 2019 #16 in non fiction, 6th april 2023
