Whispers of the Soul

Anorexia

A Fragile Shell

In the mirror, a shell so delicately worn,
A porcelain figure, so fragile, forlorn,
Each curve and contour meticulously crafted,
Yet within this facade, the spirit feels drafted.

Glimmers of beauty that dance in the light,
Hide the tempest raging just out of sight,
With each passing glance, a whisper of dread,
The voice in my mind spins webs in my head.

A fragile shell, painted with care,
Conceals the torment that lingers elsewhere,
For every compliment feels like a knife,
Carving deeper the rift between body and life.

This shell is my armor, my fortress, my guise,
Yet I crumble beneath it, I shatter, I cry,
Inside, a tempest that rages and churns,
As I cling to the hunger that flickers and burns.

Each meal is a battle, each bite a defeat,
While the world sees perfection, I'm lost in retreat,
With hollowed-out echoes that echo my plight,
A ghost in a shell that hides from the light.

Like a seashell abandoned on desolate shores,
I'm lost in a tempest that endlessly roars,
The beauty that glistens is veiled in despair,
A treasure so precious, yet stripped, laid bare.

I'm drowning in whispers that echo inside,
In a battle for self where my hopes try to hide,
Yet beneath this shell, there's a flicker, a flame,
A yearning for freedom, to break free from shame.

If only this shell could be shattered with grace,
And expose the fierce heart that resides in this space,
I'd rise from the ashes of this fragile façade,
And reclaim the strength I've kept so well trod.

For though I may tremble in moments of strife,
There's power in vulnerability, beauty in life,
A fragile shell cannot hold what is true,
As I seek to embrace all the layers of me, too.