n0t a waste 0f space.

i am not fat

i am not fat, i know that

a fact in my brain

but the point isn't the fat,

it's where it is placed

just need to lose a little more weight

so my jeans don't dig into my stomach

and my inner thigh isn't so soft and round.

and my collarbones stick out like handlebars

and my ribs a beautiful cage.

because skinny is beautiful, desirable,

and bony shoulders aren't unhealthy, they're just petite, like dead baby bird wings, blades unsheathed,

sounds gory, but it's actually pretty.

i think.

and when your hip bones stick out

and your chin is pronounced,

and your neck is slender and thin,

somehow it's beautiful to own your bony frame

to let it become your exoskeleton,

armor of translucent skin, glasses of water, and tiny,

tiny,

tiny,

chopped up bits of poison.

the painful gnawing in your stomach

of your hungry conscience,

validated by growls and a pound or two lost,

and the realization that all you've eaten today is a cracker and some tea,

sickly satisfaction and controlled eating,

no one owns me, my body is mine,

and i can choose how it looks, how it is defined.

but when you starve your mind and find identity in bones,

when you can count your vertebrae,

you lost control.

i know, you didn't think so,

but those calories lost went directly to your starving organs instead of your brain

so you sluggishly shuffle through foggy days,

not saying anything, glazed eyes and blue-tinged skin,

goosebumps and shaking wrists,

no more relaxed slouch with a hand on your face,

cause it burns more calories to sit up straight.

and you're just dealing in crack,

burnt out and fried,

systematic abuse of the methods you've tried.

but as long as you have a line down your spine,

it doesn't matter if you have hollowed-out eyes.

because you are skinny.

not thin, not petite, not romantically sweet,

just a dead baby bird with your shriveled up feet,

downed before you even begun to fight

the way people say skinny is right.

you control your weight but you still can't control anything

your body's your temple, but it's still starving,

and people say minimalistic is chic

but not when it's your body, it's not supposed to be neat,

it's supposed to have stretch marks and pockets of softness,

you're supposed to have a double chin when you tilt your head down,

and it shouldn't hurt to feel your ass on the floor, bones digging through your skin,

or your ribs digging into your mattress.

and it's funny how animals are said they're abused

when you can see their bones,

but not when it's you.