Beauty Hath No Pain

Beauty Hath No Pain

A Poem by Chelsea Miller

I savour
Every mouthful,
Every crunch,
Every burst of sweet liquid
From the crisp leaves.

It sours in my mouth
As I chew each bite exactly
Eighty times.

I burn more that way.

The pain in my abdomen
Urges me,
Tempts me,
Tests me,
But I resist
For I am strong.

It soon gives up.

As I slouch,
The rolls disgust me.

They bulge like sagging warts,
Unnatural, relentless appendages
Which never go away,

I wish I could tear them off.

Perhaps I'll try...

I rise to leave the table.
My muscles, though
Rebel against my commands.

I feel the evidence of my consumption
In the pit of my stomach.

The very thought of the
Grotesque process:
The tearing,
Contractions of muscles to force it down
To where it will further disintegrate
In an acid strong enough to burn through metal;

It is repulsive.

I am clean.

It is difficult to live a clean life, but
The results
Are exhilarating.

They are triumph.
They are serenity.
They are strength.

I rest my hands on my hips,
The protruding curves
Of an almost-beautiful body.

But beauty is a race.
I am almost there,
To meet the others
In the winners' circle.

There, they are happy.
They are successful.
They are free.

I am far behind the beautiful
But I am 
Almost there.

I know I can make it.
I must try harder.
I must have more

I must not fail.
Failure is

I will do not what I can,
But what I must.

I will do what it takes.
I will carry on,
For I am

I will make it to the winners' circle.

Beauty hath no pain.

© 2013 Chelsea Miller

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Added on May 9, 2013
Last Updated on May 9, 2013
Tags: eating, beauty, pain, anorexia, skinny