I miss my ribs.
Their steady ascent to success, a ladder marking progress.
I miss my hips.
The empty space between them, reminding me I do not have to exist. That it is possible to disappear.
I miss the hollow at my throat, and the sharp edges that surround it. The comfort it gives me to hold the bones like handles, to hold onto myself.
I miss everything being in focus.
I miss acheivement.
I miss stepping on the scales and watching the needle fall, a little more each day.
I miss the way my clothes hung, too loose, too big.
Watching myself shrink with such sick satisfaction.
Because I stopped, I stopped for you.
And the photograph is blurring, edges fraying into the background, as my body loses it's corners.
As acute angles stretch to obtusity. To obesity.
And how sick it makes me feel, how disgusting.
I make my skin crawl, desperate to writhe out of the reach of this new alien thing. This heavy thing of substantial weight, that traps me so that I cannot breathe. Pulls me under with no escape from drowning in the blubber.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
It's within my grasp, the key to unshackle the weights at my ankles. To unanchor me from this reality.
I could run through the door and not look back, and then, it would all be ok. Only then.
Everytime I reach the crossroads, you're there.
Imploring, placating me to stay on the dark side with you, where I cannot dance with death.
I listen. Of course I listen... Your words are magnets and I'm just metal pulled back to you, to your waiting arms. Hoping maybe, that you'll love me this time.
I stopped for you... please let me go back.
Comments
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As I read this, I almost started crying. It reminds me of a lot of conversations I've had with my dad, and how I feel right now, with this awful widening feeling. I feel worse now than ever before, and I wonder if he knows I'm doing it for him, because I know he has nothing else to hold onto than his kid in another continent... and all I want to do is be less again.
Sorry to add all that in, but that's what the poem brought up, and so vividly. It's amazing. You captured it better than I could ever hope to.
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this poem is beautiful,im recovering from bulimia and this really made me remember what it was like to run to the scale every morning and have my stomach do back flips after every meal,if this is based on true life then i really wish you best of luck and hope you ca recover,its better on the other side bby,i promise.there isnt anything about this i dont like,its just amazing.
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this poem
defines my life.
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Im not sure that's a good thing
But aye... me too. So at least we have something in common!
Lulz, long time no talk or nowt btw innit x
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