Flower

A poem for my cousin, who had anorexia.

There is a girl

who feels hollow in her shell of skin.

She picks away at it

with words of poison and nails like thorns.

I dread to think of what she will become.

If only she could feel the sun on her skin

she would flourish like a flower,

and shake off the rain from her petals.

Instead, she is weighed down by drops of insecurities.

Her vision sees nothing but

numbers which form like vines

tightening around her waist.

Her roots are shallow and

she rocks back and forth with every breeze.

There is a girl

who has lost herself.