Right now,
She's shovelling the food down so that she can vomit it out later.
"you should eat less" they say.
Everyone starts laughing but she doesn't.
Right now,
She's at the mall with her friends. She's grown used to the uncomfortable silence that flows through the room when the manager says that they don't have their size. She's grown used to the pitiful glances thrown at her.
"You could be so pretty, if only you tried"
"You should diet"
She just smiles.
Later, she throws up silently - heaving a sigh of relief.
Why does she feel pretty only when she's hungry?
Why does she feel good when she throws up?
Why does she feel good when she sees several marks in her thighs flowing like a river?
You tell her that she'll be pretty;
and when she starts trying -
she starts dying.
Anxiety screams louder.
YOU ARE READING
Chaotic Survivor
PoetryI write. It calms my chaotic isolated heart. A collection of thoughts that comes from a ripped heart. Join my journey - of healing myself.
