Pretty woman
sleeping lightly,
awakening at the smallest cry
from your youngest;
you have no idea
that your oldest baby girl
is in her bedroom, door shut tight
sitting in front of a mirror
clutching her stomach
sobbing -
returning often to the scale
waiting
praying
for one tiny variation in number.
Bright blue and deep black
stain her eyelids and cheeks
as pearls of grey stream
from her eyelashes to her lips,
down her cheeks
over her chin
streaking her chest with wetness.
You sleep so quietly
you don't hear her despair,
so consuming it makes her body ache.
Pretty woman
sitting in your office,
clicking away on a keyboard and
answering emergency phone calls;
you don't stop to think
that at that very moment
your first born is miles away
moving, never stopping -
pushing herself, running on nothing
and water.
She's fighting with herself -
she obsesses over each bite
until the guilt overwhelms her
and she buries her head in a toilet.
Pretty woman
returning home from a long day
a tired smile on your face,
a worn out sort of cheer in your heart.
Would it break if you knew
that she saves all her energy
for when you're there?
Would you be crushed to discover
what she really does when she goes upstairs?
To read what she writes?
To know what she weighs?
Your biggest little girl is struggling,
wearing a smile as often as she can
for you
praying inside that one day you'll see through it
and hold her,
tell her it's all okay
(even if you don't believe it) -
hoping you'll notice
that though her smile says one thing
her eyes speak louder
and she's not okay.
She is not okay.
I am not okay.
Pretty woman
don't worry your pretty head
if you don't see it right away.
Don't force the blame
upon yourself when you know
it was never your battle to fight.
Don't expose yourself to her harsh reality
if what you need
is to think that she's happy.
Look outside and see the bright sun
shining down on her pale face
and see the baby you brought here years ago;
see the little girl who ran carefree through the park;
see the teenager growing into her own skin;
she's still there
she'll always be there
I'll always be there.
In a list
A contest entry
- Eating Disorders - Mondays in April Official Contest June 2009 by April Somerston.
480 points, ended July 12, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - PreWrites! by Menna.
700 points, ended July 29, 30 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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This is really powerful, it almost made me cry, its a wonderful message and take on eating disorders, i was very impressed at your creativity. Thanks so much for entering my contest, best of luck.
~Menna -
I got so emotionally invested in this poem...which means you did something right. A lot of things, actually. The tragedy of your "cruel-to-be-kind" deception really tears my heart out. Well done.
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very beautiful how you placed it as no one then you... as well you slowly crept into it
nicely done
thanks fro entering
oh yea love, i hope this sisnt true -
Ah, I had intended to comment critically on this, but due to the subject matter, I don't think I can. My own sister suffered from bulimia and anorexia for two years before my mother caught on or chose to acknowledge she knew what was going on. So, the content of your piece is far too personal for me to be critical about at this time. You were honest, kept it real, and didn't back down from the awful truth of a situation like that.
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This is a depressing piece. Bravo! Very well-written! I wonder why her tears are grey...and I didn't know that pearls were grey, but that's really the only part that I took issue with.
I liked the end. It left me with some hope...
Nice job! :-)
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Hm, the grey pearls thing was sort of like saying something without actually saying it . . . it's supposed to describe running mascara. Thank you for your comment, I appreciate it.
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have a go
I'll have a go with a little help...you may disagree, but I will take the chance. I like a lot in this poem, especially the bit about the 'pretty woman,' repeat. I like the feeling in it. I will not mention everything I like, but I will mention one thing that drew my attention away from the poem. I thought there were too many words...superfluous words which are acceptable in prose but, to me, they are not poetry.
For example...
line 2..I do not think you need 'through the..' in fact, I would leave out 'night'as well, because I would assume that it was night and really it does not make much difference when it is.
'blissfully unaware' and 'you have no idea' both mean the same almost, so I see no use in having both phrases.
If you have the word 'her,' you do not need the word 'girl.'
'all too' means???
more repetition in 'to eat or not to eat' and 'she obsesses over each bite,' to me, both phrases tell the same story, have the same feeling and so there is a repetition continuiing through the poem with un-needed phrases, which do not add strength of feeling, or meaning. It is the same message repeated unnecessarily.
I hope I am not too vicious because this is a beautiful poem about a real problem. You have made me feel it, as your imagery is vivid and the feeling runs high.
Richard
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I didn't find it vicious at all, rather I appreciated it. Thank you for your feedback. I saw your point and made changes accordingly for almost everything you mentioned - the only one I kept was 'baby girl' even though it says 'her' in the next line. To me, it's more of a personal reference and it just didn't feel right to take it out.
Thank you again for your comment, it really did help.
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