This White Porcelain Bowl

This white porcelain bowl

I’m kneeling over it

The cold rim I grip with my fingers.

I am white knuckled

Tears are running down my face,

My nose is dripping.

Snot sliding down my top lip into my mouth.

I hear the door creak open,

All I see is my sister


Asking why.

I can not give a reason why,

And that's when I see it

The disappointment on her face

And even though I see how much it hurts her

I’m over the toilet again the next day,

But this time it is different

Right as I force a finger down my throat

And feel the vomit slide up my throat

My eyes shut,

And I see my sister

And remember that she is 12

And she is growing up in a time where being 100 lbs is perfect

I am supposed to be someone for her to look up to

Not look down to,

Especially not like this

while I’m over

this white porcelain bowl


This poem is about: 
My family


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