Best Poems Written by Emily Mead

Thinner

A series of poems by Emily Mead

Poem 1: 
She was thirteen?when she learned?that laughter had a shape.
It sounded different?when it was about her.
A hand around a stomach.?A joke passed beneath a breath.?A dress that didn't fit?and eyes that noticed.
No one told her?there was a word for what it did to her.
So she carried it?without a name.

Poem 2: 
Years later,?the world glittered behind glass.
Diamonds at the throat.?Bare shoulders beneath flashes.?Waists disappearing?beneath impossible fabric.
She watched until the room?around her went dark.
Someone downstairs?called her for dinner.
She let the voice?fade.
On the screen,?everything was beautiful?because everything was small.
And somewhere inside her?something shifted.
Not loudly.
Just enough.

Poem 3: 
After that,?she began noticing things.
The women with hollow cheeks?smiling into perfect light.
The plates arranged?like still-life paintings,?food untouched?beside flowers.
Long legs on treadmills?before sunrise.
A number falling.
Another number falling.
Comments blooming underneath:
Perfect.
goals.
how?
She never asked.
She watched.
She learned.

Poem 4:
Soon,?she could look at a meal?and see arithmetic.
A cookie became a consequence.
A staircase became a challenge.
A mirror became a courtroom.
She began collecting?little rules.
Don't eat after eight.
Don't waste a workout.
Don't trust hunger.
Don't look too long?at the girl you used to be.
Nobody called it anything.
She thought she was?finally becoming disciplined.

Poem 5: 
There were new words everywhere.
Wellness.
Transformation.
Before.
After.
Progress.
And beneath all of them,
thinner.
She watched women disappear?inch by inch?and called it becoming.
She watched people celebrate?what the mirror had taken.
She began to wonder?what it would feel like?to be congratulated?for disappearing too.

Poem 6: 
The refrigerator hummed?late one night.
Moonlight rested?on the kitchen floor.
There was milk.
Fruit.
Something wrapped in foil.
And behind it all,
a small white box.
A name?she had heard whispered?through screens?and conversations?and headlines.
A name that seemed?to belong to the future.
She held it?for a long time.
She knew?it belonged to someone else.
She knew?she shouldn't.
But wanting?can make a warning?sound very far away.

Poem 7:
Afterward,
time became numbers.
The scale.
The mirror.
The needle.
The days.
The space between?one meal and the next.
Her clothes began?to hang differently.
People began?to notice.
“You look amazing.”
She smiled.
That was the worst part.
She smiled.

Poem 8:
Her mother began?leaving lights on at night.
Her friends began?watching her instead of listening.
The girl in the mirror?became someone?everyone was afraid of,
except her.
She only saw?what she had wanted?for so long.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Until the word?stopped meaning beautiful
and started meaning
gone.

Poem 9:
She remembered?the laughter from thirteen.
She remembered?the girl who had eaten?without thinking.
The girl who had danced?without counting.
The girl who had worn?whatever she wanted.
She tried to find her?in the mirror.
There was only skin?and shadow?and a face she barely knew.
She finally understood.
The world had never promised?that being thinner?would make her happy.
It had only promised?that people would look.
And they did.
They looked.
They worried.
They cried.
They begged.
But by then,
being seen?was no longer?the same thing?as being loved.

Poem 10:
One morning,
the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
The refrigerator hummed.
A phone lit up?somewhere in another room.
Another woman?smiled from a screen.
Another number?appeared beneath her face.
Another before.
Another after.
Another girl?watching.
And upstairs,
there was no answer.
No final speech.
No beautiful ending.
Only the terrible silence?left behind?when someone spends?too long trying?to become less.
Too late.
Too late?for the laughter?to be taken back.
Too late?for the mirror?to apologize.
Too late?for her to become?the girl she had been.
She had spent years?searching for a way out.
And somewhere between?the screen,
the scale,
the needle,
and the hunger,
she had mistaken?a smaller body?for an exit.
There was no way out.
Only
thinner.
And thinner.
And thinner.

Copyright © Emily Mead | Year Posted 2026