body box - what i am now v2

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.