Food.

How delightful, wonderful, beautiful.

Sensuous and pleasurable.

Such a strange longing we have

For such small objects.

Actually, it's not strange at all.

Sensuous and pleasurable,

 

Artfully and intricately made.

I crave.

Though

Sometimes I wonder:

Is it too much?

 

Others see me and they tell me,

What is wrong with you?

At least,

That’s what they’re thinking.

I know.

 

I know why they’re thinking this.

Look at me.

What has happened?

Up and down I go,

Big to small, small to big.

Too small, too big.

 

Is it really the food?

No.

It’s me that’s the issue.

 

Waking up, I feel myself spill off the bed,

Stomping on the floor, feet aching

Everything quakes as I walk.

My eyelids are heavy,

The weight of the world succumbs me

A monster rests in my stomach.

 

I stand naked, looking in the mirror.

Shame.

Too much there;

I want to disappear.

My clothes don’t fit.

Each day it gets worse.

 

I don’t want to walk;

It’s embarrassing.

I don’t want to stand or sit;

It’s embarrassing.

Even sleeping

Is embarrassing.

 

Tides of skin

Roll over each other;

The roundness is defined;

It’ll never go away.

 

Delusion,

Obsession,

Oppression.

Depression

Is digging a grave

For me.

 

My stomach aches today.

Is it really my stomach though?

No.

It’s my heart that hurts.

I’m tired.