How can I begin to describe the hate?
True hate I have for my multicolored thighs
The way the light hit them at a quarter past nine
One a beach in the morning air
Her eyes couldnt help but to stare
At the deep purple lines
Marking my legs every side
The sun did a beautiful job
Of highlighting every silent sob
And my brain did great work at allowing
Food to stop my stomachs growling
Food to intrude on my Goal's howling of
Restrict
Restrict
Restrict
How can I begin to describe the hate
True hate I have for my multicolored thighs
The way the light hit them at a quarter past nine
And the shrunken version of there former selves
Were still not enough
Were unnoticed
Cuz I am
A disappointment
But I will
Get back on track
But that food
It calls and calls and my brain
It succumbs to its wishes
And we go back and forth in this drawn, outstretched journey to "fulfillment"
Where I gorge myself on yesterdays dinner
And that box of cookies they bought "just for me"
Till I sit. Alone. Unnoticed. Unanswered.
By the toilet
And I hate hate hate myself
And I scream scream scream at myself
And I cut cut cut myself
And I gain weight
And I lose weight
And this almighty war inside my mind is never seizing
Because I don't know what it means to win
Or what it means to lose
And stability is completely incomprehensible
And if I gain am I losing?
And if I lose am I winning?
Or do the similar statements go together
Is losing lost?
Is gaining gain?
Is losing depression?
Is gaining happiness?
And this conflict creates consistent change.
Consistent frustration.
STICK TO ONE SPOT.
I say.
STICK TO ONE THOUGHT.
I demand
STICK TO LOSING.
I scream
143.
134.
128
126.
124.
DOWN
DOWN
DOWN
We go.
And with the number I follow
Follow like a person who doesn't know what leadership means
LEAD DAMNIT!
You. Know.
This is wrong.
126.
128.
TOO MUCH!
Too much....
Too much.
Frustration
We follow.
So I tell my self
Its....
Okay
Its....
Okay
But No
.... It is not
So we go back and forth in this bitter love game
And I count
Count
Count my calories
1 one hundred
2 one hundred
3 one hundred
4. NO MORE.
And I eye that knife placed so delicately in our kitchen drawer
To cut the bread that I refuse to eat
To serve the dinner I dropped to my feet
I feel
Defeat.
Fear.
Fear has overcome me
Because I hate
Truly hate my multi colored thighs
The way the light strikes them at a quarter past nine
Because that knife is NOT so terrifying
And the scale CAN answer my tears at night
For the scars have become my safe haven
And the growling stomach has become my home
And am comforted by this bloodless shrinking body.
And
Its okay
Its okay
chop chop
dice dice
But its okay
Its okay
Growl
Groan
But its okay
Yum
Its okay
Flush
Its okay
chop chop
dice dice
Its....
Okay.
So how can I begin to describe
The hate, true hate
I have for my multi colored thighs
