R I B S
you seem them in photos, arched backs strung like taffy,
stretched out on furniture like barren shelves,
and i wonder how did they get them so empty? i want mine to be like that.
i pull up my shirt and in look in the mirror. my shelves are so full, too full.
i want mine to be like that.
so i reach inside and tug
and pull and yank
and tear (and cry) and empty
until one day someone asks for help – and forgetting, i reach inside once more.
and despite it all, i am surprised when i find there’s nothing there.
i tell them sorry, i ran out of that.
and so
and so she
and so she can’t
can’t st —
CAN’T STAND IT
she can’t stand it. every time she looks in the mirror at her naked body she can’t stand it.
it makes her physically sick.
every time she eats she feels guilty – yet her lack of willpower continuously fails to stop her as she takes one more bite of addictive chocolate sweets and tells herself “it’s okay.”
sitting at the edge of the shower disgusted in her skin. disgusted with her lack of self-control.
she wants to be s k i n n y. she wants to be able to see her ribs and feel them and count them.
that’s all she wants.
. . .but is it? is that really all she wants?
no.
she doesn’t know it now, but what she wants will never be enough.