Mirror Mirror

This cracked mirror does not tell me I'm the prettiest in all the land
like it does in my all favorite fairy tales.
The blood stained glass shows me the stretch marks and scars
from the stretching and shrinking of flesh.
It screams at me to be thinner than this,
or no one will accept me.
I'm a loser if I don't lose this inch of skin on my hip.
I wake up in the veil of depression, because I know
my day will be wasted again and again
by racking up the calories in my head,
and deciding what to throw out or throw up.
In the end, it doesn't stay inside.
The frustration is exhausting,
and the feeling of isolation is unbearable.
Because no one understands.
No one could possibly understand.
This is why I do it, to set myself apart,
and make myself feel better than I do in these humanoid mind sets.
I only scratch the surface of this mental block
and it doesn't take long to begin to bleed.
I need to be better.
I need to be the best.
Peel the plaster back and unwrap the gauze
to peer beneath the surface of baggy clothes and faux smiles.
Look at all the pretty colors.
Splotches of purple and yellow bruises form
where bones break and snap
from 'accidents'
that... Complete me.
When I see all these people stuffing their faces,
it disgusts me.
I make myself better than them.
I rise above the idiocy and gluttony
by slinking off to the bathroom.
Locking my secrets behind me,
I turn around and puke up
all the pressures and insecurities.
For a moment, I am liberated
and invincible.
There could never be anything wrong with what I'm doing.
I do this only to myself...
But I am not the only one who suffers.
Even though I'm slowly slipping closer to a coma everytime
I put down the fork
and flush the vomit out to sea.
It still doesn't bother me,
the elation I feel
when I fit into smaller sizes,
or when the popular girls comment on how good I look.
Everyone tells me I should be worried,
but this is the happiest I've ever been.