Indulgence, gluttony, wild binges
can set the tone for a desolate day.
The simple act of eating- unholy in my mind.
Carbohydrates to be allocated, portions to be measured, sugars to be circumvented
as if my happy body is the subject of experiment and i am the chemist-
trying desperately to desist creating a monster.
Stoic physicians, my urging mother, my conscience.
Lectures in an ever-rising crescendo between my ears
on permanent repeat; Stuck behind old wax i hesitate to remove.
My lack of will power, my resistance to insulin, my self hatred
make mirroring the American standard of "woman" s l i p from my greedy fingertips-
A tiring struggle to mold myself into a sculpture i can bare.
Defeminizing hormone, falling hair, a body morphing from an hour glass to a pear.
A sickness masking whatever beauty i still retain-
I am left wondering, "what will be left as i age?"
Beneath the complexes- my only true creations-
Lies truth i cannot avoid:
there is a certain emptiness about feeling full-
it is oddly fulfilling to feel empty.