An Address to an Eating Disorder

Dear Bulimia,

 Look, I'm glad you came in and put your feet up, (on my brand new coffee table...),

but I'm afraid now isn't really a good time, I'm afraid there's no such thing as a really

good time. You can't stay here. Again. I have better things to do than to take two 

hour baths in the dark because I can't stand to look at myself, and try to bend myself

backwards to look like a magazine model.

Dear Bulimia,

It's like you feel the need to take up space once inhabited by food with reget and anger

once it's gone. It's the empty space is an opportunity for your misery to sit like a rock

in the pit of my stomach.

Dear Bulimia, 

Is it a coincidence that "bully" is in the word bulimia? Because you pick on your

vicitms like they don't already have to drag themselves, room from room,

just to get around, you pick on them like they're oblivious to your hatred.

Dear Bulimia,

You are a fake friend, you say, "I'll be here with you 'till the end!" But you can

only say that, because you know when the end will be, because it will be your


Dear Bulimia,

What did you want from me anyways? Why are you still here? Did you want my

soul? I already sold that to you. My life? I handed that over to you years ago,

free of charge, unless you count the enamel on my teeth as charge, did you want

my sanity? Ha, me too. I can't give you something I don't have, 

Dear Bulimia,

Why do you have to have that effect on people? That when people hear that word,

they look the other way, like when a dog is hit by a truck, or a little girl passes by

with a bruise under her eye.

How many years I went without help, or hope, or even a voice because everyone

cringed at your name.

Dear People Who Cringe at The Word Bulimia,

HELP ME. Can't you see I'm drowing in a sickness my own mind encourages?

Dear Therapist,

When you told me I was hopeless you were as helpful as the people who cringe at

the word "bulimia".

Dear Society, 

I'm not saying it's all your fault, but it's all your fault.

Dear Brain,

You're not blameless. Though you grew up with shaky hands, staring at the cracks

under the bed you used as protection, you could have been different. It's not too 

late. Thank yourself. 

Dear Face,

Thank you for harboring the hints I couldn't say out loud, thank you for harboring

the smile some people have managed to fall in love with, and thank you for 

keeping the eyes that hold secrets I'm afraid I'd say otherwise.

Dear Chest, 

Thank you for helping me breathe even when I told you not to, your disobedience

meant the difference between life and death.

Dear Stretch Marks,

Thank you for loving me more than I ever loved myself. You loved your home so

much you changed with it.

Dear Thunder Thighs,

Thank you for carrying me every step of the way, and keeping the shallow boys


Dear Wrists,

I'm sorry.

Dear Society,

I forgive you for telling me I'm not beautiful because I'm not skinny. But not as 

much as I forgive my body. 

Dear Body,

I forgive you.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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