The Monster

A poem about distorted self image, particularly in eating disorders.

Every day she changes.

Some days she is growing

larger throughout ranges

of distorted facial despair.

Other days she is fine,

she smiles and pulls a face

in the mirror, after a little much wine

and just like that she is beautiful.

 

It’s hard to keep consistent.

Her imagery ever more fluid,

ever worse, ever existent,

ever worn and each day twisted.

Is she some sort of beast?

Large, tormented, ravaging

her face apart like her feast

and I see she’s worthless.

 

I took something one time.

She shrunk, she withered down

and I can’t tell with rhyme

nor reason why my brain saw that.

Was she ever that big

with her now hollowed cheekbones

and sad eyes, sunken twig

maybe I was just high?

 

She’s a monster again now.

Today I looked and felt sad

because I don’t understand how

I didn’t see it yesterday.

The monster lives behind glass

Our hands outstretch in synchrony

eyes vacant in unison, we pass

judgement on one another.