purge

the sad part is
i can never recognize the girl looking me back in the mirror
anymore
especially not
the small hands gripping the sink counter,
knuckles white except for the raw rough redness
from the skin grinding against porcelain teeth
so easily reflected in that of the toilet
it's always the same:
purge, purge, purge, purge
everything and anything that makes you
anything he could easily deny
and keep telling yourself it's worth it, every single piece,
and it's really not even bad,
a constant sore throat, i'm sick a lot anyway
it makes it harder to speak, but i need to shut up anyway
(after all, all i talk about is him)
the dizziness, i haven't begun to pass out yet
and the lighter my head feels the prettier i feel
the headaches-- i've got advil for that
and it'll be worth it
just to feel beautiful again, to feel pure, to feel so light and flawless
to register the envious looks on weaker people's faces
as i walk by, untouchable in my double digits
(after all, it takes strength to deny yourself, i've always had a god complex anyway)
and maybe, just maybe,
to hear him eventually say "you've gotten so small... are you okay?"
--just to have him notice me in that moment
and just to know he cares enough
to be concerned
again.