Long Eating disorder Poems
Long Eating disorder Poems. Below are the most popular long Eating disorder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eating disorder poems by poem length and keyword.
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 called fat i took a look at myself in the mirror and didn’t see a healthy child who enjoyed three meals a day, i saw a girl who would look better with her fingers down her throat.
i didn’t realise feeling hungry would become a thing i felt proud of, something about the cold water travelling down to the empty pit of my stomach made me feel whole.
i began to forget all of the things i loved in life and my illness was all i thought about.
people would comment on my weight and i became a valuable subject of conversation. “oh look at how slim her legs are” “look how much weight she’s lost on her face”
why would i stop when my eating disorder was the most exciting thing about me.
dinner dates with friends and movie nights turned into checking the calories on a bag of popcorn and crying when i realised i’d surpassed my daily limit.
the scales became my best friend and i wasn’t worried anymore about feeling full, i was obsessed with feeling empty
i was scared of what would happen if i picked up the fork or didn’t check how many calories were in a tomato
binging because my support system and purging became my routine
the illness hasn’t stopped hurting me and i’m afraid it will never stop
but i’m more afraid that it does
-unKnown Person
My Habit
You say I eat a lot—
But a lot eats me.
I got stress I can’t tame,
Hate that drives me insane.
So many therapists I can't name,
Yet still love you and can't cause you shame.
Before you judge me based on my order,
Saying I have an eating disorder—
Ask:
What the hell in this world is in order?
You don’t see the hate,
The anger,
The envy I swallow with my food.
You just say, “Nah, dude.”
You think I don’t already know
You’re ashamed of my belly?
But I don’t care lately,
'Cause food tells me: “Take it easy.”
It’s not that I can’t control my eating.
It’s just your drama,
Your perfect bodies—
They make me overthink.
And I hate that.
But I can’t scream...
So I overeat.
So next time you say,
"Here’s something small to eat,"
I’ll pass—
Because I overheat.
Look, sugar…
I love you.
But this?
This is better than a trillion tattoos.
'Cause you stress me out with everything you do.
I hope you understand if you love me too.
So what do you say...
A buffet for two?
By Little One and Nova
Ana is a nickname used by those with anorexia. For some, it's a "superior" way of life. For others, it's a way to belong. Ultimately, it's a life ruled by fear; whether it's ever faced or forever denied.
If you suffer from an eating disorder, please try to get help. No one wants to see you die from your illness. Take care and stay safe.
Ana
By Michelle Morris
02/05/2023
Ana, Ana, Ana
Your name conjures up images
Demons and heartbreak
Anger and shame
Ana has been a part of my life for decades
She was my mom's best friend
She was a family secret
She was the biggest liar and manipulator
Nothing I could do or say
Would lessen her grip on my mom
I was sucked into her orbit
There was nothing I could do to avoid it
My mom was tiny
She was around 5 feet tall
She looked like a little pixie
But she could be a demon troll
I always loved her
I still miss her beyond words
But our relationship was complicated
By all the baggage and demons we had to deal with
It's taken many, many years
I accept that I'm not perfect
I appreciate that I don't have to be
To receive love and affection
But I still have super high standards
I'm still way too hard on myself
But I am grateful that I don't have Ana
Living in my life or my daughter's
Ana is divisive
She is cruel, controlling and dark
She'll never bring love and light
Sadly, she'll always be part of our world
If you have Ana in your life
If you believe she helps you belong
Please step back and realise it's denial
No one can show you love when you're gone
There's nothing superior about starving
There's nothing sacred about this way of life
You belong with those who want you to live
Please accept and embrace life and hope
You don't need to fear being happy
You don't need to fear the scale
You don't need to feel like an island
For you are part of life and you are loved
© Michelle Morris, 2023
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
Is the Mirror Unkind?, for an Anorexic
by Michael R. Burch
for anyone struggling with self-image and self-worth
She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm...
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon an entire campus will mourn.
Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others:
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.
My lovely wife Beth has struggled with an eating disorder for many years. I wrote her a poem titled "Is the Mirror Unkind" soon after meeting her. She was always much lovelier in my eyes than the reflection she saw in the mirror. And she was always much more generous with other people than she was with herself. The flip side of the golden rule is that we should treat ourselves as well as we would have others treat us! I hope anyone struggling with "self reflection" problems will be as generous to themselves as they are to others. And anyone who can sympathize with Beth can sympathize with themselves (hint, hint).
Keywords/Tags: Self Image, Self Harm, Cutting, Mirror, Anorexia, Anorexic, Eating Disorder, Inferiority Complex, Low Self Esteem, Self Worth, Anxiety, Angst, Depression, Hopelessness, Suicide
it crawls through me and lives in my skin
it floats in my blood and begs me to give in
the blade is my paintbrush and the paper: my skin
oh how much i would love for the blade to dig in
i think if i’m skinny, the pain will go
but really the pain is inside me and i can’t say no
the thinner i get, the more whole i feel
but i did not realise this was the devils deal
i give in to the thoughts and the demons in my head
for now i realise they’re not under my bed
it was never my fault, the demons live inside me
i could never ever change the way they control me
so dear devil, what’s next?
a cut to the wrist or a blow to the head
surely you know your game is no longer fun
in time you will see the damage you’ve done
i’ll be dead soon don’t worry,
the deed will be done
-unKnownPerson
Another Sky
Is there another sky,
where I could rest my heavy bones,
embraced, cradled beyond this ledge
The drop to hell is far too steep.
Running down a cloudy glass,
the crimson drip of mother’s wine
staining all it touches with a bitter, bloody red.
I measure worth in empty plates.
A parasite gnaws at my stomach's lining,
a relentless hymn I cannot silence.
My scars like ghostly constellations,
a haunting I carry, both burden and compass.
But there is a place where flowers grow in gravesites,
where mothers stitch sunlight into the fabric of grief.
I’ll trade wine for water and darkness for the Sun,
guided by stars that burn in another sky.
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 strengthening toothpaste and whitening strips
I only look at healthy snack like plain rice cakes and original sun chips
Carboard is not the most appealing flavor
But it is the safest one
I don't have to feel guilty when I eat them
I won't need to punish my body later
Some days though
I will eat the birthday cake and not worry about it later
I will still go to the gym but only spend 30 minute there not 2 hours
I brush my teeth not worrying about if i will cause any damage to them from a purge
Healing is messy
Somedays are easier than others
But I know that I am trying my hardest.
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.
Her soul was starved of acceptance
An aching hunger wanting to be fed
Her body weak
Not from the lack of food
But for the lack of love for her skin
Being black meant a life where no matter what she did
She would never win
She couldn't control her race
But she could control her body
She wanted to be invisible
And the only way she could make that happen was to disappear
Her body, her skin, her mind
A place of imprisonment
But she could control how she decorated it
To her that felt like a rebellion
Even if it meant she lost herself
Deep down she knew this wasn't right
But she just didn't want the fight
She was willing to make that sacrifice
With every meal skipped
She got weaker and weaker
Not realising how she was getting closer to death
Mistaking it for freedom
She had got everything she wanted
Just not how she expected
She realised a little too late
How true this statement was
The world wanted her gone
And she had finally given them what they want