hungry but at least i am good at math

a girl in my class said im good at math,

speaking how my life was on a good path. 

they all wondered how i finished the worksheet so quick,

and that college was gonna be an easy old pick.

calculations came easy when i did them a lot,

it was just a benefit my eating disorder brought.

no matter how much music i played on repeat,

i couldn't bring myself to grab a plate to eat.

making daisy chains and reading books to not snack,

because my notes were racking up in numbers to track.

my calculator had yesterdays seconds left on the plate,

determining my self confidence and my day's fate.

because soon fainting became my favorite routine,

and to avoid eating late by brushing my teeth clean.

sticking my fingers to caress my throat,

rereading the day's calories i had wrote.

getting on my knees, but not to praise the lord,

but to exile the food i had while i was bored.

if you are skinny and you do not eat,

you'll be in the hospital waiting room sat in a seat.

if you fat to start this weight loss quory,

everyone looks at you like you are a success story.

girls approach and ask me how i did it,

i explained i am sick but they told me to quit it.

the plummeting numbers  from my account brought joy,

because my debit card soon became a weight loss toy.

to buy me pills and books to drown out the sorrow,

of the possible weigh in of the break of tomorrow.

i sleep at night with a wrap of sweat around my waist,

and the calories that i left tracked were in my notes, unerased.

if you are not in recovery you are dying,

how many flowers does it take for everyone to stop crying?

because everyday is a tightrope of life and death,

with the rope swaying on if i should keep my breath.

im scared to say it but with every day i am dying,

and slowly im tiring to even continue trying.

a girl in my class said i was so good at math,

but you can't count like me unless you are under your minds wrath.

i can count how many calories are in a nicotine pod of mango,

or how many calories you burn in 20 minutes of tango.

i can count how much is in my tube of toothpaste,

and i can count how many tubes of mascara i can waste!

i can number off how many tears in the shower i cry,

because at this point i have no reasons to count to try.

i can count how many clumps of hair are on my pillow case,

and i can calculate how much color has left my face.

i can count how many times i have helped another,

but i can't count the amount of times i have tried to recover.