DENIAL
My bones are intricate,
Clinking together like the fine china
Mom uses when she has guests over for tea.
They feel angelic, almost holy
In their appearance.
My hunger is powerful.
The emptiness could move mountains and
Change the course of entire rivers.
My doctors say that my bones are weak,
Like a twig easily snapped in half.
They're dry and brittle,
Not fit for me to walk on, let alone survive.
They say I'm addicted to the feeling of
Water landing in an empty stomach.
Addicted to starving, to purging, to a
Disorder.
Addicted to my friend.
My friend says they just don't understand her. I agree.
YOU ARE READING
Picking Up The Pieces
PoesíaAn anthology of poems written by me. The uploads will be in 2 parts. The Before is part 1, and The During and The After will be part 2. This is the story of my recovery from PTSD, An Eating Disorder, and Sexual Assault.
