You don't care

I am left with no words when the mirror yells back
All of my faults.
All in one frame
I walk into class, all too aware of the snickering and teasing roaring to life as I take a seat.
As if I didn't know.
As if your side comments were a public service announcement letting any innocent bystander know that their life is in danger.
Do you think that I like to look like this?
Do you think I like to suck in my stomached every time I pose for a picture?
You don't even know.
You don't.
You don''t know that skipping meals has become second nature.
That binging is a tradition, and purging a ritual.
That I have become close friends with the white dinged tile that covers the bathroom floor.
That laxatives are a way to cover up the frequent "sick," excuses.
They thought I was pregnant.
I don't know what is more absurd.
The fact that they could think that I would be so foolish as to let myself get bigger, or the fact that someone would want to have sex with me.
This isn't a cry for help, it is a Declaration of Independence.
I don't need the help of someone who could care less.
What I need is someone to simply notice.
Someone who paid the same amount of attention that they do to their phone, to me. 
But you don't care.


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