Food

Thin
They told me bones weren't covered by enough fat.
That my body was too sharp for their love.
My bones to prominent,
My self-esteem to low,
My B.M.I to low,
And my dreams to low.
They asked me questions that sent vomit flying towards my teeth.
They judged my weight as deep as the mirror's reflection.
My mirror and theirs are not the same,
I see the girl not the woman,
I see the fat and ugly,
I see the scars of their words, that I somehow let make it into my flesh.
I see a past that has been lived like a meth-head with no meth.
You see a woman who wants to be thin.
You look at my thinness like a tree, 
but you can't see its roots.
You can't see you have no right to judge my body, because the nice doctor said,
A combination of eight letters that spelt out the word anorexic.
And somehow that word gave you the right to own my body.
To own it like a pack of cigarettes.
To pick a part of my body and set it on fire,
To breath out the smoke of your words that caused more damage;
"You have no ass, and cheeks no boy will love you."
At that moment I wished my body could have fallen off like the ash from your cigarette,
But at that moment I smiled.
I smiled because I'm not thin for the boys,
I'm not thin for the mirror,
I'm thin for the emptiness.
For the hope of grasping it out of body, but with every number that goes down, the emptiness slips just out of reach.
My mirror shows how the emptiness consumes my life, Your mirror and your eyes see an incredibly vain woman.
Fat 
Stuffing chocolate by the block.
Stuffing pastor, bread and cheese.
Stuffing smokes, alcohol and cake.
Watching my weight climb,
Watching my sink bubble out toxins.
Holding back tears,
Holding in my blood.
Letting in the numb,
Letting my throat rote,
Losing my voice,
And yet some how my body's still fighting,
And my babies still love me.
I'm losing myself, my passion and my fear.
So I start stuffing again.
I place it in handful at a time, 
not caring, not thinking into a hole I've heard called, 
pie hole, face hole and food hole.
And that's what it is a hole, 
One that can't be filled.
I want to scream, or bleed, or lose control.
But my body's still fighting.
My face is still smiling.
And I'm to scared to ask for help again.
I'm meant to be better,
I'm meant to be a young lady, 
I'm meant to be passed all this,
So I keep stuffing.