How pathetic must one be to not be able to eat?
And I don't mean that in the joking way, when you choke on your food.
Your friends laughing at your incompetence.
And not the concerning way of an eating disorder,
where you can't even force yourself to swallow.
No, it's the pathetic way of not being able to decide or even reach for what might be edible.
When your knees don't work enough to stand up to reach the shelves.
When your arms won't raise high enough to grasp the edibles.
When your hands can't hold up the items long enough to have you focus on not tipping over.
Is it bad to sit on the floor, leaving the fridge's door wide open for the cool to escape?
Is it bad to stare at the fridge's light bulb in a trance after having walked home in the dark?
Is it bad to be grateful that it was dark, that no one's home, because no one could hear you start all over again?
Isn't it pathetic, that I had a made meal, ready to heat up, but decided against it. Going to bed hungry instead. Because of my body's stupid unwillingness to use its jaw.
After such a long day.
After such long days.
After such long weeks.
After such long- you know how it goes. It's been years at this point. Maybe it's time to give up, after all.
At least on one thing. At least on chewing. At least on moving.
Maybe on thinking. Maybe on dreaming. Maybe on friends.
-BrynCL
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Them
PoetryMultiple poems are held inside here. Those are the kind to be written from experiences, Knowledge, Dreams and goals. Yet also hold disturbing pictures, at least for some. A life is not always pretty. Mind yourself.
