Best Anorexia Poems
"Marionette of Flesh in a Borrowed Dress"
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
The hourglass,
a skeletal jester
mocks in the tomb's chill
Each falling grain an emaciated sigh,
"Soon you'll cease to be."
The mirror's cold reflection,
a Gorgon's ghastly guise
A marionette of flesh with vacant...
hollow...
colorless eyes.
The worms, like pallid mourners
watch me shrink
A marionette of organs,
cold and pale, pink.
This flesh, a borrowed dress
once sprightly
Now stained and thin
Holds tight the secrets only
death can win.
This borrowed dress,
a shroud where my story's writ
In laughter's faded stitch
and tear's accusing slit.
A map of life etched deep
with scars that mar the grain.
A raven of fleeting triumphs
a pendulum of ceaseless pain.
In the shadowed hollows
where sorrow resides
I languish.
marionettes of fate's cruel designs!
Each scratch and cut a lament.
each tear a bitter sea!
Bound by the chains of my...
limited mortality.
In this borrowed dress,
I mourn what could have been...
Lost in the convulsion of my own... sin.
I am transformed
but not redeemed.
I am drifting into the void
My spirits are shattered
and my dreams destroyed.
So in the silence of eternity
I find my rest
Lost in this body of my own...
detest.
And though this shell
a chrysalis
soon withers
and decays
I cast aside the shroud
no longer bound or worn.
Accept the endless night,
where a new self-forlorn is bourne.
Transformed
a residual relic
through the void
I fly
Suture with stardust catgut,
a worn scroll in the sky.
A child
No more than 12 years old
Sees images of women
Thin
Beautiful
Rich
Wanted
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
Unwanted
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
1. INCIPIENT
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
"starve"
i listen
the humming of crackling body whispers
"this is all your fault"
2. GROWTH
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
3. FULLY DEVELOPED
i am engulfed in flames
these charred hands stain my body with words like
"bony"
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
4. DECAY
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
say,
"hello. i am healthy"
say,
"i've missed you"
a phoenix flies over a body she burned
a city she burned
a world that she burned
says
"go. go find out what happiness tastes like"
My colourful soul is seeping through my skin
But Ana is a beauteous monster
And I cannot stop letting her in.
Someone get a doctor,
She’s stuck inside my head
And if I don’t get her out,
I’m sure to wind up dead.
Her voice it makes me shout
And cry out in pain.
When I am offered food,
She makes me seem insane.
I am in her constant servitude.
Oh will I ever be free?
When will I escape
And bring back the old me?
I don’t want to feel sick
But I don’t want to gain.
So if I want to be a stick,
Then sick I shall remain.
30/04/2021
Twelve bottles of water
Lots of lettuce
Lettuce only
Lettuce Lettuce Lettuce
Lettuce and water
Water and lettuce
Twelve bottles of water
She looked like a war-torn waif
Shame on us for not knowing something was wrong!
For thinking this was okay
For not recognizing a mental illness.
Shame on us. Shame on us. Shame on us.
Her family, for not recognizing anorexia when it finds one of our own.
Twelve bottles of water a day became fifteen.
Lettuce lettuce lettuce. Only lettuce for nine months.
She looked in the mirror and called herself names. She thought she was fat.
Even after she had lost sixty-three pounds.
Nine months of only lettuce equals three hospital stays,'
three last rites.
Lettuce and water, water and lettuce.
Anorexia. An illness.
Shame on us for not knowing so we could save her.
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
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.
www.wisedummypoet.com
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
..in my silent cries
Sneaky
Deceitful
Calculating and cruel
It poses as your friend
Offering comfort
Strength
A sense of achievement.
It isolates
Jealously guarding the relationship
Until it infiltrates
Every cell of your being
And claims you
As its own.
Each weight increase signals defeat
and never fails to leave you blue.
For, when you strive to stay petite
each pound is 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.
But, 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 won't eat,
anorexia’s roots run deep.
(Quatrain)
2/6/2017
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
A little lipstick could not hurt.
But she was eight, and refused lunch after it was on.
She thought she was "fat" now, and she wanted to be thin.
I caught her wearing scarlet nails the Tuesday after the lipstick.
Her Daddy thought it was cute.
Her grandmother bought an eyelash curler
And false eyelashes for her at the mall.
She wanted a waist now, and boobs. She was still eight.
I threw it all away, but people sabotaged me, it all came back.
She stopped eating food at nine, pushing it around her plate.
Pretending she had eaten something.
I knew she had not.
Still wearing lipstick, and lots of eye make-up.
It did not make her look happy; it made her look sad.
It made me feel sad; I tried to talk to her enablers.
They told me I was wrong.
She stopped eating at nine. Saw herself as fat.
Wanted to be a fashion model; she weighed seventy-six pounds.
By ten she was diagnosed with anorexia.
An emotional disease that killed Karen Carpenter and others.
She weighs one hundred and ten pounds now.
She is five foot ten, and twenty-two years old.
She is in the hospital again, and they are trying to coax her to eat.
A little lipstick could not hurt? She was eight, and needed to be a little girl. I am beyond words now.
I am a porcelain girl with cracked porcelain skin
I want to be pretty perfect thinthinthin
Skinny little thighs pretty pink cheeks
So down my throat my finger goes and up the bad things go
Nimble little fingers stained with chocolate cake and cherry pie, red stained lips and puffy pink eyes
Dead broken eyes and mile wide thighs, ugly cheeks and broken smiles
Happy pretty doctors giving out round little candies to keep me from dying
Screams and cries and lieslieslies
I am fine I am pretty I am fine
I am a little porcelain girl with taped porcelain skin, pieces chipping off and bugs crawling in
No food for days bingebingebinge
Little round candies fill the holes, keep the bugs away
Happy pretty doctors say that I’m better but my fingers are still stained and it won’t go away
Can’t stop won’t stop must be thin
Lies grow bigger smiles grow wider
I am thin I am thin I am thin
I stare timidly into the softly lit mirror,
Its gaze staring back at me unrecognizable.
I've been told this person is my friend,
But its reflection paints a different picture.
Its mixture mixes a mess of colors I never thought go together anyway.
A bit ghostly.
I trace its outline carefully -
A bump here, a dent there, extra padding everywhere -
So pathetically unfamiliar to me.
So frightening
to me....
To me
to me
to me
to me
Why does no one else seem to see
What I see?
What I see...
I've been told is my friend.
But friendliness bodes forbidden,
Foreign between the eyes of those destined to be one.
When will I learn my body is my friend?
Who honestly teaches that anyway?
I say honestly purposefully.
Lies, all lies.
You see it, don't you?
I don't even need to explain for you to know.
That's how low this show has gone.
I need help unmasking and redefining
this
festering,
fatal
phenomenon.
It’s a battle everyday, from the moment my feet hit the floor.
It’s not a habit I’m proud of, but a sickness I can’t ignore.
I know I’m my hardest critic, and my worst enemy.
You are taking me over piece by piece, and this will be the death of me.
I should know it’s not important, just a number on a scale.
It’s me versus you now, and I hope someday to prevail.
I’m starving my body and also my soul.
I see you sickness, you laugh, because you are in control.
I cannot face you alone; I know I’m not that strong.
You’ve been hiding around corners, waiting to appear all along.
You are now taking me over completely, as I knew you would do.
Maybe there is hope for me somehow, and then I can control you.