The Story on Your Arms

Fri, 07/12/2013 - 13:17 -- mtmrose

Your wrists, your arms, your ankles, your thighs. 
Look me in the eyes and tell me you're fine.

You're stronger than you know, to show off those scars.
It's hard let someone read your story on your arms.

Though you looked beautiful today, 
more perfect than ever.
You gained weight in treatment;;
I'm relieved you were willing to get better.

I love you, you know. 
I love the word hate carved into your wrist. 
I love how you made it through, 
and I love how much you've been missed.

I've never been proud of anyone, 
you're the only exception.
I know it must've been hard;
listening to life lesson after lesson. 

You were quiet, and you listened, 
not quite able to understand. 
"You eat food, not calories."
how could you count food on your hand? 

Wouldn't you gain weight, 
if you started to eat? 
He told you it didn't matter, 
you just couldn't go hungry.

I know you cried, 
I know that food went to your head.
Though I'm so proud you kept it down;
remembered never to purge before bed.

You're back now, 
sitting in the chair next to me in class.
I missed you more than you can know,
and I love listening you your laugh. 

It means you're happy, if only for a bit.
I knew you'd be happy someday, 
I knew you'd never quit.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



this is amazing

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