The number on the scale is dropping.
Lower, lower, lower.
Gram by gram I am being chipped away at by Ana.
She is the sculptor and I am the block of marble.
She tells me if I listen to her, that one day, I'll be a masterpiece.
But it took Michelangelo years to create David, the perfect man.
If i want to be a perfect woman I have to be patent Ana tells me.
When Ana is not working fast enough I push her along.
Screaming and crying on the inside.
Begging her to paint me like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
All while siting up straight at the dinner table.
In front of my barely touched plate.
Silently crying tears of perfection.
When my friends and family ask if Im hungry or even ate at all today.
I smile and lie though my grin.
Because one thing I know for sure.
Perfect masterpieces sculpted from marble, can't eat anything.
YOU ARE READING
My sad poetry that no one will read✌🏻️
PoetryLeaving this book up as a reminder of how far I've come. Pro recovery, recover or die, it's not worth the pain and suffering. You are deserving of food, you are deserving of life and you are loved. If everyone who read this book is anorexic, statis...
