Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.227.72.114
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
if you saw me
the way i see myself
maybe you'd get it.

"count your calories,
read the nutrition panels,
diet,
exercise,"
i know. 

believe me,
i know. 

"it's for your health,"
turns into 
a chase
after my...
after your
ideal weight for me.
but you say it's mine.

I'm afraid of dying
because i worry they won't even be able
to lift my casket.

body positivity 
until you no longer fit
into any of the boxes
you were destined for,
so i lay in a box 
and shut the lid,
hoping you won't hear me scream as
the coffin is lowered into the ground

and i still worry that they're laughing at me
calling me names
worried about my size
rather than my death
so i shrink myself smaller
and smaller
because i think it will please you
and yet i cannot fit into this casket,
i am a product of pregnancy
and failed prosperity 

the american dream
of my parents coming to these shores
with hope
seeing me dwindle it away
as each pound on the scale rises
i know their disappointment does not show on their faces
because they wear it on their hearts
I'm sorry
i hate it too

i'm scared of shopping because 
i know i will need to forage for a size at the end of
the rack
because nothing near me will fit.

unable to read my poetry out loud,
because i can't speak without 
obnoxiously frequent breaths.
i develop exercise induced asthma
like an excuse to avoid exercise because

I don't care anymore.
i tried 
i really did.

but when a bite of rigatoni
turns into a fear of the scale,
i give up. 

looks when i order my food,
if not at me,
then at the portion,
fit for a giant.

that's what i am to you,
isn't it?
no longer human,
but a puzzle you just can't fix,
a mishapen piece you need to cut down 
to make it fit in its place.

fit. 
what i'd do to look
feel 
be
the embodiment of that word.
and by fit, 
i mean thin,
and by thin,
i mean skin.
and bones.
nothing more.
I don't want to be anything more.

I'm cringing at the word body
because i know it's something 
i will never like.
stares as i walk down the street
stomach bouncing
and I'm struck
with a memory of when 
my stomach was pumped
because at the age of 13 I couldn't wait for old age
to die.

tired of laying in bed, tired
of seeing how i look in the lake of my bathroom
so i decide to 
drown myself in it

I'm sick.
sick of myself
sick of looking into the toilet bowl 
knowing what comes next
I'll purge.
purge myself of sin
gluttony
lust 
love
of all the things 
we choose to fear
and we chose love
because this world was not ready 
for a heart as big as mine
so it takes 
what i eat
and dissolves it into
a bloodstream 
that is tainted with numbers
far too high.
i need to be high now
in order to eat 
it's the only way my guilt
will not suppress my appetite
and even then
i know it will all call come back up:
the fear the fault the food
it all comes up 
and i flush it away

the seven deadly sins:
I've committed each one
the worst was my confidence
my pride.
god forbid i have pride
god forbids me 
to have joy in who i am
because the christian down the street
told me so
that if i want to make it to heaven 
i need to take down that colorful flag on my porch
which i know they think waves in their faces,
rather than waving at them which is how i meant it.
i never expected that response
from you too, 
i suppose. 

i saw the way you looked at me,
trying on
a hand-me-down
from someone seven years my senior,
breaking the seams
as i struggle to fit an arm through.

i develop a fear of mirrors,
i deflect from the possibility of seeing
a reflect
of the error I've become.

breaking the binary of 
skinny or fat,
I've become something worse,
not something in between...
just.
worse.

I don't want to live like this anymore,
but it's too much now
to change.
so maybe I'll give up,
and maybe you can rest.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required