Trigger warning: this poem may be triggering to people who have experienced eating disorders.
It’s almost better.
the food I was bound to taste twice.
The colors’ almost brighter the second time.
Vomits falling out of my mouth
while I’m trying to speak.
Why can’t you hear me?
I’m screaming.
The acidity is burning at my tongue
but it seeps to my soul and it holds me.
Please- hold me.
Can your fingers still not wrap themselves
around my wrists?
When you tell me to wake up
And look in the mirror
I still see nothing.
Or everything.
I can’t really tell which.
I’m not sure who truly exists.
I’m sorry I’m not holding your hand
they’re filled with pills and pins
I know I hurt you
When I hurt myself
But you can hold your voodoo doll.
When she’s thin.
My name is Sierra; pronouns she/her/hers. Instagram: @sierrachrist. I hope this poem makes someone feel less alone.
unpublishable 