In a matter of days, I have become addicted to letting go.
Letting go of the food that my mouth consumed only hours before.
The smell of vomit filling my nose like gasoline
I know it’s wrong, but I cannot escape a feeling so intense.
The way that my two fingers penetrate my throat,
the way my throat clenches in the absence of air.
I am a sinner, forcing harm onto myself, but my body
screams out of necessity. A drug. An addiction.
Sometimes I make myself vomit even when there is nothing to.
Spit piles up in my mouth, I hate myself.
Mama once said
Pretty girls are skinny girls. When I became skinny,
I was told I was beautiful. Telling myself in between gags,
that this, this is how it’s supposed to be.
When the skinny girl gets skinner, it’s a disease
When the fat girl gets skinny, it’s a miracle
My mom said that she was proud of me.
When people told me I was sick, I told them they didn’t
know the difference between sick and struggling.
Convinced of the notion that pretty people are skinny people.
I look at my reflection in the clear toilet bowl water,
I do not recognize the girl that stares back.
She is broken, bare.
Some may say that she is beautiful,
She is skinny.