Body, Forgive Me.

My hair falls out in clumps
and when I brush through the knots,
I almost come unraveled;
but I do not.
My fragile skull aches,
and my eyes sob
as I watch myself through the mirror,
and you will beg me to look away,
but I remain mesmerized
by the purple stars falling
under my hollow eyes,
who create secrets from constellations.

Body, forgive me.

Eating has become
an ocean full of sharks --
sharks being voices;
voices that do not exist,
but, for some reason,
I never get a quiet moment.
I notice that I am drowning;
my cheekbones are sinking,
and as much as I try to stay afloat,
there is no fighting against
the anchor that is eating.

Body, forgive me.

And when I try to recover,
eating coughs and cries,
instead of cookies and cakes,
and my rib cages are holding my soul
hostage like a prisoner,
with my heart beating,
ticking like a clock,
reminding me that
this might last forever;

Body, forgive me.