Diet.

0.2

Come on, Kid.

You're becoming big.

Your weight matches your mothers.

She's grown.

You're only 16 and the scale says that you're twenty pounds over weight.

The doctor says that type two diabetes is only 25 pounds away.

The more you cry, the more you die and you cannot lie.

No, you cannot lie about skipping meals and skipping life because you're afraid that you'll swallow your sadness.

Gulp it down.

Come on, kid.

You're becoming humongous.

Gulp one.
Gulp two.

You look like a big fool.

They joke and poke your tummy just like she used to.

"You're a big boy. What is your mother feeding you?"

Your reflection can't help but shed a tear but you? You cannot shed your fears because they are where you live.

Gulp one.
Gulp two.

You are twenty two pounds over weight and no matter the date, You eat it away.

Because the number on the scale is obviously drunk.

Now that you're broken in front of a rotated image, you find that all along you were punching your stomach while screaming.

Screaming at yourself, Yelling at the top of your lungs.

"You're such a big boy!"

And the bruises on your stomach replace the meals that used to fill you up.

|writing.|