Week one. #11: Sneha.


anorexia nervosa

sounded pretty (like I wanted to be)

why can't it be like,

wingadium leviosa?
i wanna be- light.

as a feather.

walk into the room of mirrors.

curved mirror, my ally.
showed me that i was skinny enough.

after a long hard day.

when a size 4 doesn't zip up,

and my mascara runs along my cheek.
the sales girl tells me to try a size 7

and something breaks within me.

multiply supplements.
poke fingers through my throat.
skip meals.

"He won't love you now."

look into the mirror,
touch my bare stomach,
thigh,
arms.

disgust.
pity.
anger.
hate.

makes me wanna run to the kitchen,

make a run not for food.

the knives, please.

but.
the angel on my shoulder,

crawled into my head.

stabbed the devil incarnate,

with its trident.
after removing its halo.

then-

whispered to my fragile body.

"hold yourself like you want him to hold you. I'm gonna love you now like you want him to love you."

i hugged myself.
my body wept.

hearing the words,
it waited for-
for years.

for, now it knew.
it was a temple.

now, it's my religion to worship it.
not set it to flames like embers.

mercy.
care.
accept.
love.

I am not a label.

won't be just another empty paper body.

or a sad country song.

or an incomplete bucket list.

or overdosed and spent; pills,

or a half written suicide note.

But. I can be,

i shall be,

your hopeful complete verse.

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