Book Club / Writing

food for thought

If you could see my bones
maybe you’d also see into my mind.
But that layer of fat around my midriff
works like a noose.
If I got smaller, maybe I’d break free
but for now it holds me hostage.

While you slice through your sandwich
I slice through my skin.
Wondering if one day I will allow myself to eat bread again

Some girls don’t understand how to do winged eyeliner
I don’t understand how you can eat in public
or at all
without feeling wildly insecure
and like the world is crashing down around you
because god forbid
you ate pasta.

Every time you discuss food
it’s like a needle pricks my skin.
A nightmare awakening.
I bury the thought entirely
like you might one day bury me.

Maybe I’ll battle for decades in silence
maybe I already have
but because my skin isn’t taut and my face rounded
you might never know.

While you slice through your sandwich,

I slice through my skin