I know it hurts. I know it's not good.
I know your hunger is different from mine.
I know it doesn't taste the same as mine.
imagine you could grow all over again
and identify the millisecond you started
counting calories like war victims,
mourning each one as if he had a family.
You would go?
sometimes I wonder that.
sometimes i wonder if you would come back
and see yourself reappear and disappear right in front of your own eyes.
and i love you so much.
I will hold your little hand through the night.
just please eat. just a little.
you wrote a poem once,
about a city of walking skeletons.
the teacher called home because you
told her you would like it to be like this
let me tell you something about bones, baby.
they are not warm or fluffy.
the wind whistles through them as if they are
holes in a tree.
and they break too. they break in half.
they hurt and splinter like wood.
Are you hungry? I know you like the items on the Chick Fil A menu.
I know. I know how much you hate this question.
I'll find another way to ask someday.
I know they're yelling at you to stretch even further.
I hear them counting, always counting.
I wish I was there when the world made you
break in half.
I would have told you your body is not a war zone,
it's okay to leave the plate empty. ”
- Caitlyn Siehl
tags: eating disorders, empty plate, food, love, poem, poetry127 likesLike