Self-Examination

Approaching the table,

Rubbing the fingers of my slim hands.

A young woman covered in a thin sheet

The skin around her face pushed forward,

Round and cold.

Under the sheet are two soft hands

With nails down to their beds;

The first indicator of lack of restraint.

The softness of her abdomen,

Making me reach for my own,

Imagining her holding her stomach as she walked down

The hall, hoping today was the day

Her stomach wouldn’t jiggle as she took her next step.

Her only shields her shapeless clothing 

& her nibbled-down hands.

The scars on her body were the stretch marks of her self-harm.

Her mistakes, which were seen as a badge of effortlessness,

Were instead an alarm.

Food was her medicine when she felt unsure.

The problems grew as she did. 

There was no cure.

Others approach the table

Trying to understand the why instead of the who.

She does not have control of her shields.

She is exposed. 

unguarded.

I lean over the table,

Covering her in the sheet once again.

The bottom of my oversized blouse riding up,

Exposing skin

unguarded.

I ask the others to leave out of respect.

protection.

After they leave I follow,

Turning off the lights & closing the door.

When the hallway clears I walk behind slowly,

Biting my nails.