I am trapped
inside my body
the shell of a girl who cries at the thought
of breakfast, lunch and dinner
or the days when I say "fuck it"
and eat how I should
just to be punished by someone screaming
in the back of my mind
that I'm not good enough,
that I don't deserve three meals, or two,
the days where i eat enough for a week
and wonder why i don't lose weight
so I'll starve myself
but my desire to be skinny is often unmatched
by my desire to have that split second
satisfaction of chewing food
and actually swallowing it.
then begins the ritual
of turning on the shower
or the sink
something to drown out the sounds
of my desperate attempts
to rid my body of it's fuel
in hopes to never feel
my thighs rubbing together, even though
that was a feeling that never bothered me
until those other "Ana's" and "Mia's" said it should.
the hydration epedemic seems like a godsend,
in a world of cystic acne and
instagram models that all say the same thing
that water cures all.
you have so many excuses
to why you must drink 2 litres every day,
not that anyone knows that's your caloric intake for the day.
"It's good for your skin" I smile, sipping cold water
to get that beautiful feeling
of pure, clear nothingness
pouring into an empty cavern.
spewing lies learnt from the internet
becomes a regular practise
"I'm not hungry"
anything to get them to leave you alone.
why is everyone so obsessed with food
I'll mutter to myself
whilst searching for the amount of calories
in a teaspoon of rice.
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