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,

or one.


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"

"I'm allergic"

"I'm vegan"

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.

This poem is about: 


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