The Curse Of Curves

Perfection a state I'm pursuing.....

Some would call me voluptuous but I'd just call myself fat.
I want to be like the girls in the magazines, with bellys that are flat.
So my eating and exercise habits, I've greatly adjusted
and yet I still stand on the scale and look down disgusted.
I close my hazel eyes and from them crystal tears leak
I'm filled with strong disappointment, my lips tremble, I can't speak.
I vow to not let a single calorie pass through my chapped lips.
No hourglass figure for me, I want xylophone ribs and jutted hips.

I'm going to exercise obsessively until I'm rid of self loathing.
{Standing with the physique of a skeleton under my clothing}

I'm going to keep track of my calorie intake, so I don't over eat.
{My body's turning on itself, eating away at my muscles, while I grow weak.}

I'm going to endure mornings, noons, and nights of hunger pains.
{With each day, my goal of being beautiful is getting harder to attain.}

I'm going to starve myself, until I can tap on my ribs and hear a different melody.
{Once I become beautiful I'll be free of all my issues right? Finally I'll be happy?}

Is this dream Irrational, are these desires to be skin and bone farfetched?
I ache to be so skinny, that over my bones, my skin perfectly stretches.
I search the mirror for the girl who has it all, the girl I long to be.
But I'm only able to distinguish the beast that is skin deep.
With every ounce of food that passes my lip, I feel myself fail.
But with the lack of energy and food, my body is quickly growing frail.
I'm running on empty but the desire to be beautiful is too stong.
To let myself give in, too break my goal would be wrong.


I'm going to exercise obsessively until I'm rid of self loathing.
{Standing with the physique of a skeleton under my clothing}

I'm going to keep track of my calorie intake, so I don't over eat.
{My body's turning on itself, eating away at my muscles, while I grow weak.}

I'm going to endure mornings, noons, and nights of hunger pains.
{With each day, my goal of being beautiful is getting harder to attain.}

I'm going to starve myself, until I can tap on my ribs and hear a different melody.
{Once I become beautiful I'll be free of all my issues right? Finally I'll be happy?}


The media has given me false hope
and now with my eating disorder I must cope.
In secrecy I continue to eat from an empty plate
obsessed with beauty, obsessed with my weight.
I stand on the scale and look down at the little red line
still filled with disgust as it sits on 79lbs.
Looking into the mirror has gotten to be tough
knowing that in my eyes I'll never be good enough.

Perfection a state I'm endlessly pursuing
too bad I was born with the curse of curves.