Bulimia Poems

My Body Is My Friend

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

Colors

Colors

Blue the color of her eyes
That hid the pain 
The ones that ahead the tears 
When no one is near 
The ones that have the glow even
When the tears flow 

Red the color of her lips 
The ones that hold back the tips 
The tips that mad her once feel full
Now seeps through the tile

Suck it up

My stomach wants to be slim, pure, empty,
Yet the phrase “dinner is ready!”
Never fails to tempt me.
Suck it up and puke it out.

The porcelain bowl filled to the brim,
Every time hunger comes, I begin to feel grim.
My body, A battlefield, ravaged with envy.
These girls on social media, “God I wish that was me”.

I eat these

The Art of Being Empty

The Art of Being Empty 
I was baptized in the TV light of The Biggest Loser  
and worshipped a version of myself that I believed 
could go forty days without eating, like Jesus. 
 
I packed my lunchbox with a communion 	
of teeth-whitening strips and cherry red lipstick. 
you’re only allowed to donate blood

On Healing

Sometimes healing is messy
It is a rollercoaster 
Ups and downs
Sometimes I can handle it
Other times I lose control
I say I am in recovery for my bulimia
But I still struggle
I still consider pushing myself that extra hour in the gym
I think skipping lunch that day won't hurt
I sometimes spend too much time looking at teeth enamel

It's Ironic That It's Called the Throne

bowed before you once again
i’m worshipping you 
when i said i wouldn’t 

bent in half
i’m surrendering both my dinner 
and my fears

knelt down before you
my legs tremble 
my hands and chin drip

hunched over you
i am obedient
under your tyrannical rules 

there will be no revolution today

The Fork

food isn’t seen as fuel and nourishment, food is seen as guilt and shame
your bones wear thin and your hair falls out in clumps 
you see your ribs when you lift up your shirt and you feel your hipbones stick out whenever your boney fingers are placed on them. 
your throat is sore from the

Eating

when i was younger, a meal out at a restaurant wasn’t a weeks worth of skipping breakfast 
it wasn’t laxatives to make me feel worth something. 
since i was a child, the word fat has been used to shame people. it never hurt me, until i realised it was supposed to. so when i was

Bulimia

Eat
Eat
Those words I hate
This isn’t a cry, I just hate the way it taste
as its greasy eyes and melted sun linger over the bun.
A whisper lingers in my ear, spilling hurtful little lies.
Clinics and shrinks tell me I am mental
It is all in your head stop being non-cynical.
My mother says to be perfect, you must

A Little Lipstick Could Not Hurt

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

Four Stages of Fire

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

Sassy Pot-Ish Non-Chic

I weigh two six and twenty-tons today
Fat in unforeseen directions, 
I make cars cringe, when I frolic and play
And I welcome no corrections.

Mighty fine in my well-endowed blubber,
Sassy pot-like, in my non-chic.
Whale-ish me, trice big as my mother.
Loud and proud, forgiveness don’t seek,

I have earned this fat, every little bit.
Come by and see me, if

Bulimia Nervosa

Through smokey eyes, there lies
a girl whose innocence begins to materialize
To her surprise no one can hear her cries
because she's all alone in her masked disguise
Don't blame her, blame the world
Blame this girl she thought would unfurl
But now she's numb and feeling quite dumb
Her eyes tear-stained she's coming undone

Bulimia

Sin of impulse
A moments pleasure
To dive for pearls, a far deep
treasure
   of the mind and senses
Keep going, can't stop,
binge and lose all pretences
of self control.

Drowning out or off the rails,
   whatever does it matter when the consequence is
the same.
   Spare me guilt of moments past
   Of rising

Emotional Bulimia

Have you ever realised
that everything you miss
is not all that special
or good to begin with?

Vomiting away my days,
it feels like bulimia.
You say you need your own way,
like drug-fuelled paranoia.

I take advantage of myself;
I’m wasting time and what is mine.
You know how to pick the best times
to hand deliver the worst lines.

And now that you’re begging,
words

• Short Bulimia Poems
• Famous Bulimia Poems
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• Long Bulimia Poems
• Bulimia Quotes