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you were only fourteen

the first time you thought you weren’t worthy

of being in a body that wasn’t lean.

you stuck your fingers down the tree

of your throat, and, for once, you were seen.

this method felt improper, so you cut out

food altogether. you felt less of yourself —

your mind numbed, body in a grand six-year-long drought,

carefully placing book after disordered book onto the shelf

of desires in your mental hideout.

you need a mind shower:

love & love & love!

but no one responds, and you cower

in fear of

eternal unsure.

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