Birdcages and Ornaments

Four out of five children are afraid

of being one word - fat.

Anorexia isn’t a fad it’s a disease,

and six out of one hundred people with anorexia

kill themselves to be what they see in the media,

photoshopped bleach blonde Barbies

who would kill or be killed to be perfect . . .

ten percent are ten or younger,

thirty-three percent are between eleven and fifteen

forty-three percent are between sixteen and twenty, and

fourteen percent are over twenty years old.

This is proportionate to the eight million who have

struggled with this mental distortion for on average

seven year’s time. Don’t believe lessening yourself

will make you better.

Prettier, smarter, and nicer don’t correspond

with “unhealthfully skinny”. I could hold eggs in

your collarbones and hang ornaments from them

if I tried, and wrap both of my hands around your

thigh so my fingers touch you, are a living skeleton.

Your hip bones are like daggers and your ribcage

is more like a bird cage. You need to eat I just don’t want

to lose you . . . Your eyes are so sunken in they

might just fall out the back of your head you are worth

more than this. You were beautiful before this

demon possessed you and sucked the flesh out of you.

Cameras add ten pounds

to your body, even in pictures you still

look far from triple digits on a scale.

You’re losing your hair like car keys

and losing weight

as if there’s a vacuum inside you sucking in

your stomach so I can see through you. Your

thigh gap is the width of four fingers. You’re

getting so pale, I wish you could see that being

nothing but skin and bones will not gratify you,

not make you happy just one more

pound, just one more pound, just

one more pound. . . until the wind

will blow you away. . .

I wish you were still here to

hear me tell you, you were beautiful

from the very beginning, one hundred

and twenty pounds and thick hair. . .

I’m sorry, I’m sorry you became

a statistic.

Your coffin is like an empty suitcase

Baby’s breath permanently

clasped in your hands, as fragile as you

are.

 

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