buli(mia)

These bundles of wishes
Are painted by destructive bones
gnawing at flesh searching
through the stuttering frostbite.
Each Stare of the knife.
Each constant
Reminder.Each.Tick.On.The.Clock.

The words have become ritual
The cruelty, repeated.
I’ve become a slave to this name.
Each calorie,
A wrong doing.
Each bite, getting harder.
Gulp of shame
Cup of self pity.
The list grows colder.
The walk becomes longer.
The days don’t rest when
It becomes midnight.

My lungs
Filled with every trigger
That has built this house of pain.
The walls are stained
Red. Tumbling. Falling.
The lips arent mine
As they twist pain to pleasure
Whispering “do not eat”
The mock multiplies,
Until each scar
replies with remorse.

Bulimia, he says. And I nod.
And I know.


Authors note: February is Eating Disorder Awareness month. I wanted to post this poem to be open about my struggles with ED’s and hopefully help reduce the stigma of the illness. Also, to share my story (well some of it) I know, for me personally I’ve been having to deal with being invalidated and judged based on an illness that I never asked for. I think that eating disorders aren’t really taken seriously and not really talked about. Still, there are always people joking about developing EDS. Binging and Purging is shameful but its also invisible. There’s also an idea that you can just stop like that, with the snap of fingers just throw away a means of coping. But if we could just stop, we would. 

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