To a Certain Skeletal Sickness


United States

To a Certain Skeletal Sickness



Dear Ana, you know your devastation on me.


When you take a physical part away, you also steal my soul


Render me crippled, a disguised manifestation to other people


And blind me so that nothing else in the world I can see




I am just a little girl, 12, and I receive your retribution


Undeservedly, why did you have to make a reck


A young body, growing into itself, stopped to inspect


It will take years of tears to make restitution 




To my own abdomen I now strike and bruise 


Any strength was used to worsen my disease, I would choose




I feel it inescapable, yet it is my own choice


To control my weight is my single care


Since I could never make a difference, with no talents to share


Since I have no contributions or commandeering voice




But my fickle frail frame is just a deceptive ruse


My soul is not grey, but rather filled with many hues.









Now my Sophomore year I travel to Panama, every pointy bone


Seeking something, with an impetus to make someone’s day


Among a group of those deprived, led astray


Because of poor living, and no comfort at home




And I see there, there are no neatly paved avenues 


Not many scenes we are accustomed to




I administer precious medical aid for the body and eyes


Those who have never seen, receive invaluable spectacles


We share all we have— food, clothes, medicine— to give something respectable


Retaining walls for a building, with mortar I construct the sides




But not only the building is being repaired 


In Panama I build my mental stability, and remedy the impaired




I discover that there I loved the kids most of all


So happy to see us come and visit with them


10 days— I ignite a happiness in them, but the end would impend


Still, reflecting on the bus back, I felt I found my call




Maybe I am not worthless, in me something they rouse


When I saw that I did make a difference, a small due




And if there is anything I find in that experience to be true


Is that you must love life above all, and meaning of it will ensue





I return to America, and see to a bodily restoration


Because there is an occupation in the system of society


For me, and to be successful, of my life I need propriety 


Because my purpose is philanthropic; I will aid in healing nations.





I left as a bag of bones, with no will to live


But I wandered off the paved path, to find a shrouded trail


My emotions simultaneously were contained and derailed


My passion for humanity has become too restive









And I still feel this unrelenting impetus to bring peace 


To any individual or society, and their well being I strive to increase 




Forever, until the day I die, I will try


To inspire equality and urge governments to pry




Into lives with the intent to continue what people like me want


Or to build a new establishment from the ground up




Until everyone feels the warmth of hope and success


And everyone works to put extreme depravity to rest




And you know what, I thank Ana for this. That


Certain skeletal sickness that made comfort scat




That pulled me into despair, and forced me to look for purpose 


For something I could give care, and shaped my aspiring career thus




Thank you for the isolation of my thoughts, to such a depravity


That the only natural hope I formed is that of the future of humanity




For discounting me as a human in a steady environment 


Making goals as a side effect—to save others till my body’s retirement 




Through philanthropic endeavours and studies 


To work for the greater good, and ensure fellow inhabitants are ruddy




Because in a funny way, the more I hated my individual 


And the more I tore myself down, the lost soul demeaned


I was able to rebuild a new person from it, a newfound self esteem


And find a new face in the mirror, built from anorexic residual.







Your former love,



This poem is about: 
Our world


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