Wednesday, 6 January 2016
7:24 PM
Anorexia,
Ana, she liked to call herself.
Was a little voice inside my head,
Who at first was a very close friend.
"Do you want to be pretty?" Ana would ask.
"Do you want people to like you?" Ana would ask.
She said she could help me,
I thought she did.
But she was just leading me on a pathway to self-destruction
She really did.
In January, she told me to exercise, maybe skip one meal,
In February, she told me to skip, no big deal.
In March, I was exhausted, I didn't listen to her.
She punished me in April, so I did what she would prefer.
I missed a lot of my meals in May.
So in June, on the last day,
I decided to stop.
To stop her from telling me what to do,
for it had changed my life forever,
Trust me, it was hard to lose,
Something that had taken over.
But in September, that dreaded day.
Where Ana came back to play.
I listened, because I was scared,
Of what she had so fiercely prepared,
To be what was almost my death
Don't listen to Ana,
If she ever talks to you,
Because she is not a friend,
For what kind of friend wants to kill you.
