Everytime I see someone since my uncle’s been gone, they tell me how different I look

How I cut my hair short

How my acne cleared up

How my lips aren’t chapped anymore

How much weight I’ve lost

I lost 25 pounds since he died.

My mom always said that I eat a lot when I’m depressed

Because she does

And to her, everything is hereditary

As it turns out I’m getting my wisdom teeth out way before she did

And my depression eats me alive before I can finish a meal.

Guess I’m too full on sad.

I stay in bed so much I have a vitamin D deficiency

For most people it doesn’t become a risk

But most people don't turn the empty spaces on their walls into tragedies

My nightmares used to make it hard to sleep

Now I’m asleep more than I am awake because it’s the only place I’ll get to see him

And saying “I’m tired” feels easier than saying “I miss him.”

I’m getting eyebags from sleeping too much

My body doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel warm

My friends have stopped touching my hands

The leap frogs in my head weigh me down so much I’m slouching like a middle school aged boy

I swear the last time I looked in the mirror I saw fingers wrapping around my heart instead of a rib cage

My rings are starting to fall off

He used to think I was already too thin

Imagine if he could see me now

If he could see how baggy my brand new jeans have become

Or hear how proud I am

For once, I’m a small

And I’m only getting smaller

I’m shrinking at the same rate my memories of him are deteriorating

How are you’s have started to become:

“How’d you lose so much weight?”

Are you okay’s turned into:

“Are you on a diet?”

When you’re small everyone remembers how big you used to be
Not the series of events that led you to this paper thin freezing in 90 degree weather body

I don’t know how to say my problems are feeding my stomach

And my favorite foods don’t taste like food anymore.

Everytime I touch a spoon to my lips it starts to smell like him

I could smell how empty he was

How there was not a single drop of blood running through his veins anymore

How he wasn’t here anymore

I could smell how empty he was

He smelled like the nothing that was starting to eat me alive

I’ve started to remember the way he used to stare blankly at my leftovers while his hands couldn’t stop shoving food into his mouth

And I wish I could do the same

But I can’t move my hands

Because they’re still on his cold sandpaper palms

They’re still searching for the warmth that isn’t there anymore

Sometimes I can hear him in my head asking “are you gonna finish that?”

And I almost audibly say “no”

Before saying “I’m full” and heading back to bed.

He didn't get out of bed much

So neither do I anymore

Because saying “I’m tired” feels easier than saying,

”I miss him.


This poem is about: 
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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