the walk

it takes only a few steps

from any table, to any bathroom

and i, once again, 

move from sitting on my thighs to my knees.

when i think about the human hand i think about 

our fingers, how they are meant for carrying, or holding,

how i would use mine to play the piano after school.

but the way we use our fingers do not last as we get older.

i use them for counting every single thing i eat

and they never change color when they hug my wisdom teeth and inner cheek,

just acid coating a layer onto my skin, under my nails,

my entire mouth burning yet

there is no red to show the fire on top of my tongue

when my throat becomes comfortable that is how i know i am content, 

i always thought food was made for contentment. 

yet the only contentment inside of me is the fact of waiting for it to leave,

looking at it spread onto the plate as i rapidly swallow it with no question, 

taking a short walk as slow as my stomach pulsates, 

closing my eyes over the toilet bowl

so i never see it again 

Author's Note

although this is in the present tense this is a poem referring to my past and i have recovered. this poem is about an eating disorder for anyone who gets triggered by that sort of thing.

Reviews

[Haley]

What a piece, I have struggled with this all my life from counting calories and maxing myself out at 500 to trying to expel everything in my body either via bulimic practices or laxatives. It's a dark piece, but it captures what my mind is going through in those moments. Overall, this is a really strong piece with great imagery and emotion behind it. I''m glad to hear that you have recovered. All the best, Haley