The content within this poem addresses sensitive issues, including but not limiting to references of: eating disorders, negative body image and suicide
I move it round
and create a mound.
It watches me:
I pick it up and put it down;
it doesn’t make a single sound.
It stares at me:
It sees its friends come and go,
but, deliberately, it doesn’t show.
It pities me:
At it, I stab and pick,
I even give it a lick.
It tempts me:
I take a bite and spit it out;
dad glares at me, about to shout.
Mum stops him, but starts to cry,
then asks me, “why, oh why?”
It guilt-trips me:
I sit and wait; they sit and stare.
I rock, silently, on my chair.
I fiddle with my knife and fork;
they stare at me, like a hawk.
It exposes me:
Dad scrapes at his empty plate –
he really doesn’t want to wait.
I force myself to take a bite –
I’m too scared to put up a fight.
It frightens me:
They stare at me as I swallow,
Muttering that my cheeks look “hollow”.
Do they forget that I’m still here?
They do say I’m gonna “disappear”.
It’s eating me:
I finally push it out the way,
and save the rest for “another day”.
Dad tuts and shakes his head –
it’d be easier if I were dead.
It’s killing me:
Mum begs me to “have some more”,
but my jaw is now rather sore.
It hurts me:
I fill my mouth and chew some more,
say I must pee and head for the door.
Behind the door, I’m safe again,
the enemy has gone, but until when?
It follows me:
A year later and it’s still here,
but it is something I don’t fear.
I realised it was not to blame.
I realised others felt the same.
I realised it was nothing to shame.
It is me: