The walk is ready
with miniskirts and
thick layers of foundation
flashing;
gathering to this moment
with cheeks streaked
with the black
of the many layers of
reapplied eyeliner,
curving inwards where the bone
stops
to emphasise the hollow
left by the months
of leaving
hurriedly
at the call for dinner.
Childhood taken away
by a career
which will be over once
the body has
evolved
from puberty;
when the admirers
see their icons as
attainable.
I wipe away the eyeshadow
in front of the mirror
smearing it to like
a shadow
on the unnatural white,
making my face
look
like a skull,
the hollow cheeks
the grey of a corpse's.
Readying myself
for the walk
of my dreams; any girl's
dreams,
like the satisfaction of
resisting
that tempting
smell of food which
will make me
unfit
to open the show
with a flash of
bony seduction.
Author notes
Bags of Oranges Don't Leave Bruises :] option 10, eating disorder.
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A contest entry
- Your Words Were Bullets And I Was Target Practice by x-Pretty-Odd-x.
450 points, ended August 11, 42 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - && I miss you [more than ever] tonight by Kiss the girl--x.
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Comments
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Indeed, this is stunning. I was a dancer myself, and I struggled with eating-disorders in my teenage years; even now, I have more self-esteem issues than most people can probably count. Easy to relate to, your words here.
I do believe that every woman is eating-disordered to an extent, and a lot of men are too (though they won't admit it most of the time); Your imagery is fantastic, and I look forward to reading more of your work.
Laura
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wow, truly stunning! =] Your use of words is fantastic, great write. A pleasure to read. Thank you for the entry.
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