•𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢•

𝐴𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑡 - 𝐏𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐱 || 𝕋𝕎: 𝔼𝔻

[This is a poem dedicated to those who don't appreciate their bodies. Those who go through the hardships of an eating disorder. I apologize deeply if you can understand my feelings, and if you feel the same way I do, I recommend seeking help. Whether it is family, friends, or a psychologist.]

I hate me.

I hate being seen.

I hate existing.

The tingling of my bones,

My heart,

My soul,

My being.

My teeth,

My mind,

My blood,

The things I'm seeing.

In the mirror, I'm staring at my reflection.

The appearance of being skinny is fleeting.

The fat on my body -

Only in the unwanted places.

And the buzzing feelings turning me faceless.

A feeling one may call 'Autopilot'

The numbing

Buzzing

Jittering.

The stinging

The pain of not being present.

'Autopilot' happens when people use the word 'Fat' as the first word to describe me.

I apologize, for 'Skinny' is a description far behind me.

I'll never grasp the feeling of 'tiny'.

'Thin' is a word, too.

One never used.

Autopilot only caused by a select few.

My big, family stew.

The duct tape.

The ice water.

Chewing gum.

A weight scale.

I'm sorry if the words ik saying are ones you can understand well.

The white marks on my nails.

How my face is so pale.

I'm sorry that I'm built like a whale.

Well, nevermind that. I'm here to say:

I'm sick of my throat burning from the stomach acid.

I'm sick of my thighs aching with the duct tape holding them back.

I'm sick of crying in the mirror because I'm fat.

I say, it's time to stop.

Stop googling 'how many calories are in lip balm?'

It's time to calm.

Stop asking 'how do I make my stomach flat?'

It's time to embrace our extra fat.

We eat when we are hungry, damnit.

We fill our tummies.

We heal.

Please...

No more autopilot.