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Best Anorexia Poems | Poetry

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The Best Anorexia Poems

Details | Anorexia Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Anorexia Nervosa

A child
No more than 12 years old
Sees images of women
She looks in the mirror
She doesn't see the image
Her body doesn't fit the mold
Movies, TV and magazines
Tell her she is not what they want
She is not thin
She is not beautiful
Everyday her eyes cry as she looks at who she is
The perfect her hidden within
The beautiful soul they will not let her see
She diets
She starves
Still she does not fit the mold
She feels unloved
Eating less than a cracker a day
Throwing up the scant food she eats
Her body changes
Wasting away
They make her up
She wears a beautiful white dress
They close the lid
Denied the perfect her
The person she should have been
She lies in eternal rest
But she is loved
She is wanted
She will be missed

Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2008

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Four Stages of Fire

the smell of burning body helps me sleep at night
i'd rather ignite this spark in my stomach than shove bread down my throat
singe this hollow home
choke these lungs with bone dry soil so nothing can grow
and maybe they brainwashed me
or i did it to myself
but all of my dreams lead to being skin and bones
the humming of crackling wood whispers 
i listen
the humming of crackling body whispers 
"this is all your fault"

this skin is getting too hot to live in
i, the embodiment of a fire breathing dragon
i hunch over
choke on second hand smoke
and misconceptions
there are so many ways to feed into desperate
too many ways to swallow yourself whole
i let this esophagus sizzle and cry
i lie arms spread naked on the bathroom floor catching my breath
a slab of meat thrown onto a cackling grill
fatty and full of blood
sized up and bitten into
violated by my own opinions of beautiful
where bitter
where acidic
where a dysmorphic enemy does not linger
nibbling at my tonsils

i am engulfed in flames
these charred hands stain my body with words like 
like "thin"
like "sick"
this flesh can't escape the freezing creeping up on my being
the trembling of limbs
the chattering of teeth 
is a physical trophy
"congratulations!" you are one flicker away from broken
winter almost melts me
christmas and thanksgiving
piles of food fresh like flesh mocking me
rotting in front of me
a mirror image of my organs and intestines
abandoned and squeezed
some sort of puzzle 
pieces twisting and breaking
i sit quietly
they ask "aren't you hungry?"
i don't tell them that it is too late for this fire to be put out
or how often i dream of drowning

a guilty arsonist
i toss my lights and my matches
sweep up the ashes
what is left of my home
and i start building
i blow out the candles
shove my hands into the wreckage and chew it up
i won't spit it out this time
i fill myself up
i introduce myself to my reflection
"hello. i am healthy"
"i've missed you"
a phoenix flies over a body she burned
a city she burned
a world that she burned
"go. go find out what happiness tastes like"

Copyright © Stella Healy | Year Posted 2018

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The Last Laugh

I’m not an ego maniac
you know the type that gives others a heart attack
I get my vital nutrition 
From a dietitian
Who only asks for my Submission
And he gives me the ambition
To fight back
On track
Promises me that I will never lack.
There’s a battle every time I wake
There’s a battle in every move I make 
I am Jehovah's daughter
That’s why I can walk on water
I don’t need a psychic to read my palm
I have the prophecies, of his words, on my arm
I don’t need soothsayers to give me a premonition
I have fire from heaven that is my ammunition
Everywhere I turn their speaking death
It rains down until I have nothing left
Everyone is believing a lie
How can I sit back and watch as time goes by
The devil has sung many too sleep
Wake up, men of God; you’re being slaughtered like sheep
Resist the temptation
And have a deeper appreciation
For the lives placed in your hand
Or they’ll sink like quicksand
Into the abyss of despair
God’s presence isn’t there
This is a warning in these last days
To surrender your rebellious ways
Judgment is coming whether you believe it or not
Children of Niniva repent on the spot
And the God of "Mercy" will change his mind,
He calls out, “ Is there anyone I can find
That will abandon their ways and come into the light
Put on righteousness and fight this good fight?”
Spiritual anorexia
Emaciated the rest of you
Spiritual abortion
Has led many to extortion
Who will bow? Who will plead?
Save this generation which bleeds
Fathers gone estrange
Birthing violence that’s deranged
Suicide… the anti-Christ
Don’t you know Jesus paid the price?

By: Sabina Nicole

Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2013

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she shuns me from embracing her these days
her brittle fragile body no longer compliant
thin skin lifeless and sagging begging for help
knowing she needs support but still so defiant

bones pressing a blanket of desperation
bringing her spirit down more every day
trying so hard to be small and invisible 
how in the world did she get this way

is there hope or purpose to keep on trying
does anyone listen and know there is pain
the problem so hidden we cannot find it
faith has been taken.. emptiness remains 


Copyright © Betty Bateson | Year Posted 2014

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Shunning Anorexia

You are not a member of our family
Therefore we choose to lock you outside our door
Banishishing you to never
Never again darken our door
Your emaciated hands have lost their strength 
The whispers you shout have fallen on deaf ears

We have always been stonger than you
Within your grip we have discovered our own resilience 
Losing our appetite for your false promises 
This pathway emerges beyond your darkness
Time deafens us to your whispers

For long enough we have been your domino effect
Feel our weight as we align ourselves against you
Our borders have been fortified
Consciencely built brick by brick
The mortar of our love extricating you from our spaces

Our new mosaic formed in light
New possibilities
Today is the beginning of this
This power
This life
This realization
That as you shrink
Our world enlarges
Until you are less 
Less than nothing
Replaced by freedom
The way we are meant to be
Empowered and filled
With an appetite for living

My wife is the team leader for an eating disorder program here in Kelowna.
I wrote this as a way to empower families to align together against the disorder.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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America the Worlds Hope for Peace and Prosperity Has Become A Culture of Death

America the Worlds Hope for Peace and Prosperity Has Become A Culture of Death

How did this happen?  America, how did you become a culture of death?  You were
founded upon the Word of God and Jesus, the Savior of the World.  The Bible says in Him we live, and move and have our being.  Jesus said, “I have come to give you life and that more abundantly”!  He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father but by Him.  

I realize that many bad moves and changes have taken place to bring about such
a shift of principals, morals and beliefs that have caused the fall of our society.  Many things are attributed to it including, the Church in America moving away from the central theme of the Gospel, the Cross of Jesus Christ.  We have moved away from the Lord, Himself, and we have placed man on the throne of our hearts instead of Christ!  We have taken God out of the classrooms in our schools, and when we removed God, Satan then had the inroad to these young and tender minds and hearts of our children. 

Our country has become so “self centered” that we have been touting the ideology that man is a god unto himself, and this has spread the self-centered lifestyle and has taken hold across our land.  We look out for #1, what is best for you, the most convenient for you, if it feels good, do it.

Wanting to become like “Twiggy” the concentration camp model that caused many women to die trying to get their emaciated bodies to look like her and developing anorexia in the process.  And in the 70’s, if being pregnant was inconvenient for the mother, go get an abortion, who cares, it is “my body”, no madam, it isn’t your body that you are killing, you are killing an innocent human being, instead, you said, it is my figure, my fun, my time, my party  and you become a “god” in your own eyes and you took the life away from your own baby,  and now, we have as a nation, I believe killed well over 100 million babies, I say that many because, the killing keeps taking place but the numbers have not been increasing!  Also, the babies that these babies would have had… no one is counting the whole generation that was slaughtered.

Now we are a nation where our youth is dressing in black clothing participating in the “walking dead”, killing each other at schools and on the street, watching “Zombies”, playing violent electronic games feeding on death continually!

When will this stop???  It won’t without a blood bought, devil stomping, sin killing Holy Ghost revival!  Without Christ in our lives, a personal relationship with our Creator, every soul in this world will either end up in Heaven if they choose to accept what the Lord Jesus Christ has done for mankind through His own blood, or will end up in Hell burning in the Lake of Fire for an eternity!  They will literally breathe fire forever!  Wouldn’t that be enough to convince you to choose life?  Death is not pretty, it is horrible, messy, ugly, and putrid but life in Christ is beautiful and abundant.  It is fulfilling, lovely, pure but, only if you know Jesus personally.  It is really up to us, and I pray that as you read this narrative poem that you will choose life, life in Christ, ask Him today to come into your life and forgive your sins!

Written by:  Marilyn S. Jennings
August 8, 2015

Copyright © Marilyn S Jennings | Year Posted 2015

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Many Flowers, Few Thorns

Sheltered in the south of the south, its culture breathed out the dance of love to the world. Once established, as the historic natural park for gigantic dinosaurs with the earth’s tail attached to its field and a familiar friend to continental extremities both in elevations and in the measure of cold and heat. Even with its tender voice and closed influence its hands have contributed to the beautiful jewelries of the globe’s spark. The first scores of Cristiani’s animation and pioneering crime’s neck breaker through the Axe of finger-printing; also a well watered green yard for cosmetic manipulations but yet marred with Anorexia and battles of the mind. So much flowers with few thorns classify this blessed home with sons like Diego and Lionel.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

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She was my living doll.
I noticed that
When she blinked 
Her rolling eyes would click
Like a camera shutter 
Capturing images
On a very long exposure
Giving the onlooker the impression
That she was very slow
Over exposed
But she was never negative
Her life was in full colour

One eye was slightly out of kilter
She seemed to look straight through me
And out onto other side.
The far side.
The edge of the envelope
Far beyond the self sticky fold down bit.....

What was going through her mind?
It was difficult to tell
Maybe she thought that her life with me
Was just a bad dream
And that she would wake up any moment now
And I would be gone
Or maybe she really did love me
It was difficult to tell

Her knee caps were fixed
And she could not turn her wrists
Waist or hips
Which made her bob a long
Like a sea buoy
Swaying from port to starboard
And back again

Her hair never seemed to grow
And as the years passed by
She did not grow old at all
She remained the same, but
She suffered badly with her back
Because she couldn’t bend her knees
It was always me that loaded up
The washing machine

I never saw her cry
Never saw her sigh
She was always smiling
That half yawned grin 
But over the years
Developed a jaundice skin

Then along came Barbie
She was our beautiful baby
Long blond hair
Like her mum
Her eyed- fixed stare
To infinity and beyond
At the sheriff Woody doll
Perched on the crib
She never cried

She suffered though
Anorexia, I never saw her eat
Her mum would comb her hair
For hours on end 
It used to drive me round the bend

Twenty two years later
My beloved
Was in the Doll’s hospital 
Doctor Ken who also could not bend his knees
Shook his head
And told me that she’d soon be dead

As she lay there in her bed
I kissed her cold lips
She looked through me and said
I know it must have been hard for you
A human living in a Doll’s world

Copyright © Kirk Tony | Year Posted 2016

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character sketch of me

Born in Cincinnati that buckeye state 
January 13th 1959 – 57+ years to date
A tangle of arms & legs testing lungs, which sounded great
He kind of resembled a misshapen octopus with oval pate
Glowering inxs of deep purple from blue mood being irate
Thrust out the womb of Harriet Harris whom Boyce did date
After courting this youngest Kuritsky kin whose ill-fate
Whisked by grim reaper, which demise she did hate
For her being imbued with vim and vinegar til illness ate
Away her je nais sais quois personable maternal trait
Evident during my boyhood reflected by her son of late
As he too inches closer to his mortality and Hades gate
Aware that each day ought to be cherished as the rate
Of time courses down that zip line where grim reaper does wait
Attired in brand name hoodie swinging scythe across oblate
Spheroid i.e. terrestrial firmament – though many years some great
Yet to be lived – trying to recapture childhood bliss before freight
Train on a collision course toward self-destruction ala tete a tete
With Anorexia Nervosa as thy then coveted deadly mate
A brutal hellish spiral down into abysmal depths of despair did create
Indelible psychological affects undermined existence I now equate
writ horrendous emotional, physical and social upon head of mate
Pledged his troth (almost 2 decades ago), which spouse doth berate
For lack of expressed concern and attests schizoid psychic slate
irrevocably seared and stunted natural development where I rate
prepubescent, early adulthood mental illness did grate
Against once boisterously playful innocent boy crushed potentate
Only male heir from me deceased mother who tried to extirpate
Mailer daemons who forged suicide pact and via voice did dictate
Albeit without success, yet decry forsaken innate
Experiences with female relationships lured my own poisoned bait!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2016

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The Hunger Games

She put a suicide note in my coat
She's in deep pain like the titanic
But I feel I can be her life boat
I can't respond to a death letter
So I put my feelings in this poem I wrote.
Sincerely I hope
You live with that deep quote

I know about the anorexia
How you force it through your throat

You and I at 17 
Played the broken social scene
While others laughed you were the only one who got what I mean


Time stopped in 2010
You had  lost all your weight that's when
It cut me knowing I could never get you whole again.

Copyright © James Ntsane | Year Posted 2015

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Medical Conditions of Cartoon Characters

Medical Conditions of Cartoon Characters

By Elton Camp

Barbie and Ken look just right
Cartoon characters are no delight
There is old Porky Pig, if you please 
Obviously he has Parkinson’s disease

And just as soon as you see her 
You know Olive Oyl has anorexia 
Attention deficit disorder has Daffy Duck
Unless he’s treated, he’ll be out of luck

Elephantiasis afflicts sailor Popeye
His arms and legs you can tell it by
Pepe LePew suffers from sexual addiction
Of that fact, there can be no contradiction

Then there’s Sylvester the black & white cat
A severe lisp surely makes him talk like that
There are others who’ll doubtless come to mind
Whose bad medical problems it isn’t hard to find

Copyright © Elton Camp | Year Posted 2011

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tHe siLeNt cRiEs oF aNorExiA .

my stomache burns 
i do not want to eat 
he says i shouldnt
i agree 
he stairs with disgust
i look away with shame 
after every meal 
i run to that bathroom 
..i gag myself
letting out all my anger
all my frustration
..all my hurt 
i walk out with a smile 
a smile ,hiding pain
hiding bruises
this is too much 
..for me
he finds pleasure in my pain
pleasure in my tears my silent cries

Copyright © alize walker | Year Posted 2010

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Anorexia the Impostor

Calculating and cruel
It poses as your friend
Offering comfort 
A sense of achievement.

It isolates 
Jealously guarding the relationship
Until it infiltrates 
Every cell of your being
And claims you 
As its own.

Copyright © Joanne Cook | Year Posted 2007

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Old Soul

Maybe I'm an old soul
The things that should appeal to me are not interesting
Some probably think that they should be
I'm in the hip-hop generation, but current creations make me believe
that this world has no morality
Scantily-clad women dancing on the hood of cars
Beautiful women with no intelligence become superstars
Anorexia is acceptable, and should be detectable
The wickedness in this world is incredible
Men are leaving women with children to raise alone
Little children wake up and wonder where has daddy gone
Drugs are accessible at any given time of the day
The only thing that we can do is pray
Music isn't music anymore, and I listen for true creativity
It seems real music is an endangered species
Men enter prison, and some never see freedom again
We must think before making descisions
I'm an old soul in a young body
Even though I have made some mistakes, I am still somebody
To the youth of today, I must say that we are the future
We cannot push aside the God who our country was formed by
Meterialism and wild, riotous living will only lead to financial and 
physical ruin
What are you doing to make this world better
This old soul is being wise and humble.

Copyright © Keeshler pittman | Year Posted 2007

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She Looked in the Mirror

To: Mandy Jo

She called me her friend. She was one of the few.
She saw in me things that no one else knew.

I was backward and shy, a chess club bore.
I had tape on my glasses. Need I say more?

She was one of the “popular” kids at the school.
But she crossed the line, broke an unwritten rule.

Intrigued by her interest, seduced by her smile,
she freshened my outlook and polished my style.

She taught me to soar like an eagle would fly.
I gave her a shoulder when she needed to cry.

We promised that no matter where life would lead,
we’d always “come running” if ever in need.

She married a friend and moved far away.
Her homesick heart was begging to stay.

With nowhere to turn and no friends to find,
she created a place to escape in her mind.

With an inner-rebellion that raged deep inside,
she barely resembled that beautiful bride.

Her body was ravaged. A self-induced crime.
She’d withered away in such a short time.

She looked in the mirror and actually said,
“I’m so over weight. I wish I were dead.”

Prophetic words from the shell of a soul,
who engaged in a battle and lost all control.

As I ran down the hall to the emergency door,
a shake of his head said, “She’s with us no more.”

Anguish screamed out at this undeserved fate.
My promise was broken. I’d shown up too late.

I wanted to tell her but I was too scared.
I’d practiced the words that never were shared.

Why didn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she see?
Why didn’t I help her like she had helped me?

I saw in her things that no one else knew.
She called me her friend, but it wasn’t true.

In honor of Amanda Jo Abel (Carnegie)

Unfortunately, this is a true story of a very dear friend of mine. Anorexia is a devastating 
and hard to understand disease. I do understand that there was nothing I could do, it doesn’t 
help. The memories of her beautiful spirit does. Thanks Mandy, I’ll see ya' someday.

Copyright © Kevin Pace | Year Posted 2010

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One day

To the person with a stammer:
You will be a public speaker one day.
To the person in a wheelchair:
You will run a marathon one day.
To the person who is homosexual:
You will have a honeymoon one day.
To the person who is depressed:
You will be content one day.
To the person being bullied:
You’ll be the world’s leader one day.
To the person with anorexia:
You’ll not judge one day.
To the person with no home:
You’ll own a mansion one day.
To the person in hospital:
You’ll be a doctor one day.
To the person with a dream:
You’ll live your dream one day.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2015

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Each weight increase signals defeat
never failing to leave you blue.
For when you strive to stay petite
every pound's repulsive to you.

You stare in the mirror of truth
scrutinizing each ounce of fat.
And seeking the girl of your youth
you can’t believe you look like that.

Skipping breakfast you skimp on lunch
and might require medical care.
Yet you think no one has a hunch
though your eyes are filled with despair.

Like malnutrition’s telltale trace
regurgitation cuts no slack.
And you display a furrowed face
taunt skin and a skeletal back.

Mixing denial with deceit
you cannot find solace in sleep.
For when you're starving, yet can't eat
anorexia’s roots run deep.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017

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Just do you

With my fusion of lyrics and rhythm
There is no confusion that I’m refusing to simply be disillusioned
With intellectual distribution
I do not have hesitation to let you give me recognition
Realising that my vision is empowered by my necessitation of not wanting to simply be the illest
But the illest who conveys parables continuation
Guaranteed expectation of never being word stranded, inspiration
Protection from all lyric dieticians, word anorexia, rhythmic bulimia
Representation of obese lyrical content, larger than life
Not afraid to speak what’s on my mind
Plantation of human strength to express ones feelings with the spoken word
Avoiding repetition of past mistakes
Promotion of inner strength to flourish
Installation of anti-verbal abuse
Living your own dream with motivation and authority on ones lips
Inspiration being drawn from the depths of self
Allowing others to march behind me
You are not motivated?
Self-pity embraces you
Self-pity moulds you
Allow yourself to blossom
Your uniqueness is rare
Only you possess that rareness
Abuse it
Use it
And you will be surprised the person you will become…

Just look at me…..

Copyright © Lina Mthethwa | Year Posted 2013

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The smell sprays spreading
Of delicious food
From a palace above
In a poor hut bellow
Smoke of boiling water
Potatoes for hunger

Servants chivvy    
Serving variety of tastes  
Empty plates wait
Impatient children yawn
Sound waves of two cries prang together 
One for hunger 
One for objection  

Udaya R. Tennakoon

Copyright © Udaya R. Tennakoon | Year Posted 2016

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Hollow Shell

I am a ghost, drifting aimlessly from place to place.

All will power is sucked out of me, like a black hole in my soul.

My two cents are worth nothing in this world.

I am merely hidden behind a mask,

Dodging this never-ending path of fun house mirrors.

The mental battle is relentless,

Creating illusions that deep down I know aren’t true.

A sham, a mock of my former self.

He is the force clutching me tightly,

Ceasing me from all aspects of reality.

He is anorexia.

Compared to him, I am weak.

I am worth nothing.

I resist his force to no avail,

Only to stumble and crumble once again.

Pointing fingers does no good.

Trust me, I’ve tried.

But no one is to blame.

Not family, not society, not myself.

Yet each day is a new beginning.

An opportunity to change.

An opportunity to prosper.

Along with an opportunity to fail and give in.

He is charismatic, 

Telling me I am helpless without him.

I trusted him, but no longer.
No longer will I obey.

No longer will I be defeated.

No longer will I surrender to his selfish commands.

When he presses me to give up,

Ambition cries, “Keep fighting.”

I struggle to my feet,

Longing for closure.

I fall short again,

Knowing if I strive to achieve,

I will.

Knowing if I aim to succeed,

I will.

Knowing if I risk failure, it could happen.

Yet without attempt, there is no prosperity.

I will not give in.

I will not back down.

I will not lose.

I will escape this war triumphant,

No matter the cost.

Copyright © Nicole Shuster | Year Posted 2011

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T h I n

T      h      I      n

Thin girl
What are they selling you
In those multi-flavored packets
Of completely free fat

The ideal
Skinny girl

Pre-fashioned femininity
Of skin and bone
Their last resort of your motherhoods
Guilt of your womb
Suntan makeup
For the rest of the world

“Hello” magazine
Has no inkling of 
What you lost in those
Shedding pounds
Of fat
Behind your beauty

Now only skin deep
Is all you want to be

You fell for the diet
And the lifeless tailor made dummies
Of Gay dress makers
Who dress you
How they want to be
So flat
So     t    h    I    n

And Anorexia  
Is a disease of the 21st century

Everything about your woman-inity
Turned into the wire proportions
Of a coat hanger

It’s your own fault
Your dependence on makeup
And push up
Corsets history and false eye lashes
To disguise who you are

The drug of vanity
Prescribed to
Dictated to
Addicted to
And given to you 
So easily

All those slick shinny fronts of
Show you forever young
And acceptably
T    h    I    n

Support structures
Of tint and dust
Elastic accessories 
Hold up
Cover up
All the beauty
Which defines your life
A woman
Defined in four alphabetical

T    h     I    n

Will you be on a diet
For the rest of your life



Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

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Anorexia, weight loss, fever

Frail frame of weakness shiver

With collapse of castle of immunity

Opportunistic infections eager

TO prey on the victim

Whose eyes in deep socket gleam

Kaposis Sarcoma, trauma, coma

Human Immuno Virus' melodrama

Call it the battle in the bloodstream

Plethora of symptoms ranging from

Candidiasis to Herpes simplex

Which render the phenomenon complex

Elisa Western blot and CD4 Count

Diagnosis extorts substantial amount

AIDS Patients deserve top priority in 

medicare for their suffering and agony are rarest rare

Posterity will not forgive us

If in handling AIDS we sound frivolous



Copyright © nandlal pancholi | Year Posted 2007

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Talking With Ana

I have this friend, no scratch that, I USED to have this friend.
I first met her when I was 14.
She was cool. She made me feel strong, beautiful, powerful;
She made me feel like I was in control.
Funny how I thought I could control HER.
When I was with her, I felt invincible.
She gave off the impression that I could always control her, 
And it felt good. 
We were best friends, did everything together...
Except eat. We never really did that together. 
Sometimes we fought.
The fights usually lasted a few months, maybe longer.
During those fights, we didn't do anything together. 
Thinking back now, those were amazing times. 
I'm now 18, and I haven't talked to her for about 5 months. 
We had the biggest fight shortly after I started college.
The fight happened because I came to some realizations;
I was never truly in control of her. 
She made me think that, but, SHE was in control of ME.
She didn't make me strong or powerful; instead I was weak and hopeless.
Like I said, I don't talk to her anymore, but
I can still feel her, hear her calling my name. 
Crazier yet, a lot of people know her. 
Some are still under her control, but others broke free.
My advice to them is to get out, get help, talk to someone. 
When she is gone, you'll never miss her. 
I don't, and it's been 5 months since I've talked with 

written about my battle with anorexia.

Copyright © Nicole Beesley | Year Posted 2012

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Rythmn of the Beat

Listening to the rhythm of the beat 
I move my feet the speakers 
Blowing loud every time we meet
When i speak it seems like 
My flow is so sick i can't eat
Anorexia dementia from my lack of similac
Crack back to snap back i bounce back 
Then sit down fall back an relax

Copyright © Cheyenne Shelby | Year Posted 2012

Details | Anorexia Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Toothpick wrists and gay thoughts

I was born 6 lbs. 9 oz. with blond hair and blue eyes. 
I was also born gay
I am anorexic. 
And you would think people would ridicule me for this instead of me being gay.
 Surely they would see how unhealthy it was and see that in comparison liking girls was no big deal. 
No, they applauded me complementing my toothpick wrists 
and porcelain bones peeking through my too thin skin. 
How could I not fall in love with my illness?
 Every calorie I counted 
and every pound I dropped made me feel prettier. Every meal I skipped, 
every sip I didn't take, got me closer to perfect. 
 Every day that I felt fainter  
was a day that I could celebrate being thin,
And forget that I was gay. 
Halfway through my freshman year 
I had come out, and recovered 
By that same summer I relapsed. 
Riddled with anxiety and pain, I sought after an old friend who brought me comfort even in my own bruised skin, anorexia. 
Everyday I felt dizzier, was a day my mind could register the gay thoughts. 
Instead of spending time with my friends, I spent hours googling how many calories are in a stick of gum and how many calories you burn chewing that gum for an hour. It burns 11 calories while the gum is only 10. 
I became so obsessed with that negative number, because something in my mind had changed. 
Being gay stayed in the back of my mind   And as the number on the scale took its place in my focus
Anything I gained soon became guilty cries 
Anything I lost became a celebratory glass of water. 
And I got lost in the victory, because who doesn't like to win?
In between my nonexistent meals I watched anorexia documentaries like church sermons. 
Not deterred by how unhealthy they were,
but entranced by how their bodies  were so sharp and how they seemed so frail. 
middle school was rough, I was suicidal and on my way to being under weight
In 8th grade things looked up 
But I never forgot how alone I felt 
Now I feel that feeling in my stomach
Stomach acid accompanied by small morsels of low calorie foods. 
A lot of times anorexia has a nasty side effect of depression. 
In Most cases one causes the other 
You feel depressed and not good enough so you starve yourself to feel better
Then comes the brief happiness of accomplishment 
Then tumbling fall of 
"What have I done to myself?"
So now I ask you, would you spend your days counting your calories just to see your bones?
Would you starve yourself to forget you were gay?
Would you lose yourself to be perfect?

Copyright © Ember Hines | Year Posted 2017