Eating disorders

Make it harsh, brutal, disturbing, anything, any way you want to take it.

Make it under 500 words.

I'm not one for rhyming poetry but if you want a quick way to my heart then write something hard-hitting and emotional.

GO FORTH AND CREATE, CREATORS!

how many poems can we enter?

Ah right i knew i was forgetting something thank you for reminding me!

3 maximum, old or new. I'll read links from your dup listed poetry and like them to notify i've read them. :)

You Don't See What I See (Anorexia)

Its not that I am not hungry
I just cant handle the weight gain
I look in the mirror
and all I see is this heavy frame

You don't see what I do
you cant possibly understand
I feel the growling in my stomach
but I smack the food out of my hand

I ration out my portions
and eat slowly to enjoy the flavor
because I know if I overdo it
my weight will reflect my bad behavior

I have lost all my muscle
and any bit of strength
I know that I am not healthy
but this fear out weighs the pain

P.S.
sorry it rhymes
 

THE BEAUTY MONSTER

It’s in my head again, calling me down into pain
while it lifts me up to the illusion of perfection
bones protruding against easily bruised skin
nerve endings in my mind screaming in protest
as I fight with every ounce of resolve I have
I can’t… I won’t give in, though I’m doubled over in agony
stomach acid churning, abusing me with one word
EAT!

While my body is eating itself from the inside out
light headed, vision swimming, I’m so high
in excruciating bliss, fingers smiling as they
trace over an illusion of bony beauty that I know
one day is going to kill me.
There is food in my hands, heaven on my tongue
I don’t know how it got there, panic racing through
raging through, as I stumble into the bathroom
Throw it up! Throw it up! Throw it up!
Sick relief tinged with guilt as I purge myself
of impurity and emotions that are better left buried
food, a beautiful indulgence that is like a sin
to my starving body that’s screaming for it
telling me, begging me, to eat
and I can’t… I won’t, when I want to be beautiful
I want to be beautiful, like a supermodel
and I’m not… I’m not beautiful.

The pain is agony and ecstasy
while I’m having a panic attack
as stomach acid fills my chest cavity
and it feels like I’m dying  
all the lies, every single lie, telling me
I can have it all, if I stave myself to perfection
while all it ever does is hurt
interspersed with dizzy highs and overwhelming elation
that only the scales and dropping of inches can bring
though it never lasts… one more kilo and I’m be happy
just one more… and it’s never enough
for this mind fucking addiction
that equates beauty with skeletal remains.

Cake and Cigarettes

She lights the cake on fire
And watches it float away
Just like she does everyday
With a cigarette to ease the pain

Feigned innocence in extra small
Folding in to look glam and tall
Bones pressing against delicate skin
Hollow eyed with a hollow grin

Latest diet, fashion magazines
Scales, her silent master
Starvation always flirting with disaster
And just one taste of the forbidden

Her life now kissing the wings of death
Dizzy-headed and out of breath
Dreaming of wandering angel smoke
With Ana there to tighten the rope

glass shards in the guise of bones

Stiletto heels on the edge
my back leaning against the metal bars
spit stained concrete staring up
from far below

Dead mannequin eyes gaze out
from the skeleton reflected windows
a pretentious kiss grazing my soul
willing me to jump

I’ve become what I cannot be
a wilting flower in a vodka vase
filled with tepid sugar water
waiting to die a slow death

Decaying sinews hold my bones together
an embossed sculpture of flesh
the shards of myself pressing outwards
trying to become one with the stagnant atmosphere
where words are meaningless
and love is death in any language
my tongue can twist it

même les anges tombent, mon amour
et nous ne sommes pas des anges

So let me jump and shatter like glass
upon the fragmented pavement
a martyr to the beauty disease
which tempts me to angeldom
while it sings me to death



Note: même les anges tombent, mon amour
et nous ne sommes pas des anges
translates to
even angels fall, my love
and we are not angels

Ahh i'll let it slide milky way, good one though!

And Missy, damn right off the bat aren't you?
You're a hard competitor i already see that haha.

Mitochondrial said:Ahh i'll let it slide milky way, good one though!

And Missy, damn right off the bat aren't you?
You're a hard competitor i already see that haha.

Thanks, but I think I will sneak off into the corner after reading Indie's work

milkyway said:[quote-165482-Mitochondrial]Ahh i'll let it slide milky way, good one though!

And Missy, damn right off the bat aren't you?
You're a hard competitor i already see that haha.

Thanks, but I think I will sneak off into the corner after reading Indie's work [/quote]

No don't!

You've got two more entries. Give me diversity and abstractness!

Don't let her win! hahaha

But seriously, i liked it. :D

Resisting Relapse is Hard


Euphoric state

brought on by deprivation.

A clarity and peace of mind

like nothing else can induce.

A sense of comforting righteousness,

superiority feeling true and right.

Others' inability and unwillingness

to control and deny

the basest of animal instinct,

a profound moral failing.

The smacking, slurping, crunching noises

as they stuff their gobs

nauseatingly disgusting,

the sight and sound unbearable.

The scent of the subjects

of their mastication

made painful by lack of same,

and made unappealing

in the face of this heady high.

None of them know

the bliss that is mine alone,

the secret of it all

increasing the joy.

NimmieAmee said:
Resisting Relapse is Hard


Euphoric state

brought on by deprivation.

A clarity and peace of mind

like nothing else can induce.

A sense of comforting righteousness,

superiority feeling true and right.

Others' inability and unwillingness

to control and deny

the basest of animal instinct,

a profound moral failing.

The smacking, slurping, crunching noises

as they stuff their gobs

nauseatingly disgusting,

the sight and sound unbearable.

The scent of the subjects

of their mastication

made painful by lack of same,

and made unappealing

in the face of this heady high.

None of them know

the bliss that is mine alone,

the secret of it all

increasing the joy.




Nicely done.

Let Them (Not) Eat Cake

What was it that tripped in your female brain
that suddenly made food the enemy?
Those twenty four years disappeared
In the blink of an eye,
replaced by the desire to see those skeletal ribs
with that millimetre of skin,
the opaque covering of bulging veins
that forced blood to the heart,
straining and desperate,
like a tiny bud in bloom reaching towards the sun
 
and those gnarled knuckles
connected to fingers made of string
that would never craft beyond the illness,
the mind that analysed each molecule
for the apparent mortal danger
that lay beyond each crumb. 
 
When you were forced in to a hospital bed
with drip fed restraints,
you could no longer smile. 
The corners of your mouth subtly protesting
with drawn out colours like a bruise. 
The sour breath collided with rotting enamel.  
A blank vacancy now ruled your stare. 
None could possibly interfere 
with you, who would simply rather not. 
 
I'm sure you would approve 
that the coffin was as light as air.  
It was almost like you were never there. 
 
At all. 

Very nice Miss Sub!

“Man’s Best Friend” (Food Addiction-Compulsive Overeating)
http://www.cookingwithfriendsclub.com/images/uploads/overstuffedfridge.jpg
He’s my buddy,
the greatest,
so cool,
sleek and stylish,
I drool just to be near him.
Been with me from thin to thick.
Helped me get through
the death of my youngest child,
the major house fire,
my traumatic job layoff,
even my divorce,
she took it all,
everything.
Now, it’s just me and him.
Always there to serve
my culinary-cravings-appetite-desires,
morning, noon and night,
never gives me a fight.
When my mind’s made up,
everything is at my disposal~
potatoes and tomatoes,
beets and meats,  limes and thyme,
rice and sugared ice, ham and jam,
radishes and cabbages, beans & greens,
turkey stuffing and Orange Roughy,
beanies n' weenies, near beer, quince and mince,
pies and fries, mash and succotash, cheddar and feta,
apple scrapple, fish with radish relish garnish,
bologna and spumoni, strawberries and cherries,
shoo fly pie, lamb and clams and jam, mustard and custard,
tori and nori, turkey jerky, lemon and melon, anchovies,
even candied popcorn.

Sometimes, there’s even more…
ice cream is one of my dreams,
I scream for it as a tasty dessert.

And, all of these scrumptious meals
are
just a few steps away.
The problem is,
my good friend can’t walk,
can’t even talk to take orders!
It’s a bitch getting there
when
you weigh
over seven-hundred and-fifty pounds.
Holy Cow,
I couldn’t make it to the loo just now,
I think I shit my pants, too.
What would they say
if they found me dead
with crap in my pants,
alone,
and with a full refrigerator
of uneaten goodies!