Clumps form between my fingers as I rake chewed-up nails through overstayed curls
No thoughts but the ones holding the doors shut on reason, I feel nothing, I am nothing, I resent nothing, I love nothing.
My hands, the same ones my teeth graze when I’m anxious,
that is to say always,
do not tremble because I do not allow it,
and though my stomach twists like curdled milk I will not remedy it.
Float to the bathroom with spotted vision
Stand upon the podium and ask for my number
a validating digit blinks at me,
validating the pain to quiet the growls inside.
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Author:
Salem (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 7th, 2023 22:27
- Comment from author about the poem: "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" - K.M
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 0
Offline)
Comments1
I read this twice but I guess I'm too dumb to understand what is going on.But hey what would I know
Thanks for the feedback. Maybe I should work on my context being clearer. It's about using the dwindling numbers of weight on the scale to validate an eating disorder.
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