Backwards mirrors
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The whole room was made of mirrors and there was a scale at the door of her hospital room. She had no fat left in her body. She almost died. And then she woke up from the horrifying nightmare. But it wasn't over. She actually was anorexic and in the hospital. She didn't want to be anorexic, but she couldn't eat. She wouldn't eat. The image of being perfect was exactly what she wanted to be... It got too hard
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I've cried too hard for too long as I debated death. Over and over, all I wanted was a quick overdose, a quick way to escape the pain. Until the guilt set it and made me realise, suicide feels too selfish. Instead I turned my sadness into art and my pain into strength. Desperately wanting to carve up my skin, I bled on a page. My screams are silent, hidden behind closed doors, And computer screens. All these horrible emotions kept secret in notebooks. I'm too afraid to speak about it, so I write it down That's how my poetry is made. ~The birth of poetry -Me ____ First place in 2021 Irenic Awards poetry catergory Highest rankings: #16 original work #2 relapsing
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