❀ empty bones - a poem about anorexia ❀ // poets bleed flowers. ❀ a poem about my struggle with swinging back and forth between relapse and recovery from my eating disorder ❀
❀ w o r d s ❀
Size shouldn't matter, I say, hugging a tape measure tight to my empty bones.
I know my happiness should not revolve around the numbers on a scale, but I can't seem to stop myself from weighing in for the third time today.
'Beautiful' should not be interchangeable with 'skinny', but slender thighs and xylophone ribs can't help but look like perfection through my clouded eyes.
My satisfaction still comes from skipping meals,
I still wear my hunger as a badge of honour.
I tell myself I've recovered, but if that were true, I would not be looking up the number of calories in toothpaste,
If I'm recovered, then why do I still sneak out at three in the morning to run until my calves are smoking and my lungs are on fire.
For those with disordered eating, recovery will never fully set in,
I've teeter tottered back and forth between stuffing and starving so much that no one can tell the difference,
Restriction and self-induced vomiting have been engraved so deeply into my muscle memory that I don't remember what it's like to eat seeing numbers.
I want so badly to be normal, but eating has become synonymous with disappointment,
I can't resist the urge to make sure my thighs still don't touch every time I look in the mirror,
I still fantasize sometimes about seeing eighty eight pounds when I step on the scale.
The numbers shrink, but I still can't seem to wash the taste of failure out of my bones.
❀ s o c i a l m e d i a ❀
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Tags: ❀ empty bones - a poem about anorexia ❀ // poets bleed flowers, anixety, anorexia, eating, disorders, eatingdisorders, support, recovery, sad, poem, poetry, writing, ana, mia, bulimia