Eating Disorder

She swore it would never get this bad.

Upon first glance, she was one of those girls who you assumed was  all put together:

Wavy hair, smiling eyes, makeup done, maybe even wearing a nice dress.


But that’s upon first glance.

And things aren't always what they seem.


For she was also one of those girls who made sure that her weight  was as low as her self-esteem.

She became someone, something, she never believed she could.

She smiled for the family portrait, and then locked herself in the bathroom, and ran the bathtub water to hide the noise.


She found control in the numbers, the calories, the pounds: the lower the better.

But still, she was one of those girls who you saw in the halls and thought was fine.


She got “better” for a little while. The number on the scale got higher than her self-esteem.

She’d like to tell you things have changed. But that would be lying. And she doesn’t lie anymore.

Now she’s seeking control in the conflict that fills her soul. No one tells her she’s fat. She isn’t. No, she’s not even close. She just feels that way. She fears that the peering eyes see her how she sees herself. So she starts counting again. Comfort in the numbers. There’s always comfort in the numbers.


Websites she swore to never visit again somehow find themselves illuminated on her laptop screen,

their light piercing through the darkness at midnight.

“Don’t let your thighs touch,” and “Pretty girls don’t eat,” the pictures whisper.


She’s one of those girls whose parents think the world of her. Whose siblings admire her. She’s also one of those girls who, when asked, “What’s wrong?”, just smiles.


She lost some friends because of this. But I didn’t leave. She told me everything. I got her help. She hated me. But she's alive.


For that’s the thing about people: We’re all fighting a battle inside.

Some people fight back. Others let it win.

And others need someone to lean on

until the battles lost

and won.

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I'm not hungry


I'm not hungry

But I have to eat something

To take away the pain


So I'll eat

My guilt

My shame

And my sadness


Because that alone

Is enough

To fill me

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Bird, you fly so high / You always fly away. / I see you fly above the trees, / So far above my head. / The trees they sway, / So thin, / So thin, / The air is very cold. / I wish that I could fly up there, / But I am not so bold

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Unholy Ana!

a spiritual-ascetic flavour
fasting through
metaphors of bodily purity
food through
imagery of angels and angelic flight
Exhortations like
Ana's Creed and
The Ana Commandments

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This found poem was created from the "Thinspiration" entry under the Wikipedia article titled "Pro-ana". I came across it while doing research for a photography project. Under this article, there is also an entry about Ivonne Thein's photo exhibition titled "Thirty-two Kilos", which was intended to be "a mocking and satirical take on pro-ana. To Thein's dismay, however, many images from the exhibition were nevertheless later shared online as thinspiration."

My take on Pro-ana? IT IS UNHOLY!!!

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Sidewalk Girls


Close your mouth,
You can stop saying you're sorry,
Because I don't blame you,
For proving the truth,
That I am repulsive.

If all it took,
Was the ability to curve my fingers,
Into my flesh,
I'd strip away everything I ever ate,
That hangs off my body,
And hides the Anorexic within me.

All I ever want,
Is to be just as gorgeous,
As the sidewalk girls,
Maybe then you can grace my presence,
With your wandering eyes.

If all it took,
Was a razor to my skin,
I'd write poetry on my body,
And maybe you'll see,
How bad you hurt me,
With just your ignorance.

But I don't blame you,
For the tickling words,
That aggravate my senses,
Bittersweet temptations,
That strangle my heart.

I starve myself and tear up my skin,
And fall in love with my scars,
While you drift in your false reality,
Fallen for sidewalk girls.

Never realizing how invisible you make me feel...

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Empty Makes Me Strong


I want to be your loving bones,
Your happy little skeleton girl,
I want to fit in that space between your fingers,
To dance gracefully on your shoulders,
Lighter than sand,
No, lighter than sound.

Feather body, moldy soul,
Miserable decaying tongue,
Deadly poison on my lips,
Rotting in my stomach.

I'll rise above the pain,
Because I overpower food,
Empty makes me strong,
Empty makes me happy.

Empty makes me beautiful.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its my body, my choice. I wish people would just GTFO.

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