suicidio

Getting better

Every time you think your getting better you fall back into the same routine.
doing fine for a little while,
Then people so graciously reminding you that your fat.
And the voices in your head telling you that fat people don't deserve to be happy.
So here you are again.
Sitting at the table with an empty plate,
And still fork.
Repeating
I Will Not Eat
To yourself.
Not allowing this fat body of yours to
Get any bigger.
No one really gets the way it affects every aspect of your life.
You cant sleep without nightmares of your body inflating like a balloon.
You can't focus in school because you got no sleep.
And not only are you sleep deprived,
But your depressed.
Your depressed because you can't run like all the other girls.
Because your not as thin as them,
Not as pretty as them.
And you never will be.
You don't tell anyone,
Instead repressing how you feel.
Shoving all the emotions into a glass bottle and shoving it down your throat.
Because you only care about looks and that's shallow.
Shallow,
Unlike your bottomless pit of a stomach.
Swallowing the bottle and letting it fall.
But you can't keep it down,
Because that's not the only thing you shove down your throat.
Glass shattering
because turns out your stomach has a bottom after all.
The feelings you tried so hard to get rid of,
Climbing their way back up.
You think you hear the voices
When the only sound is coming from your empty stomach.
You listen,
As people tell you to talk.
But you dont.
You can't.
You traded your voice to the evil sea witch,
Just so you could have a piece of paper.
She didn't even give it to you.
Handing you a knife and pointing to your legs.
Telling you that there's too much of you.
Just like you tell yourself every day.
You decide that maybe if you create a beautiful picture on your arm,
The world would let you fall into the abyss of statistics.