deepundergroundpoetry.com

Breaking the fast

You say I'm starting to look like I'm all angles-
10th grade geometry textbook style and
that makes me
nervous.
Your mock-concerned compliment is an incantation that makes meat fall from bone
and my hands shake counting critical teaspoons.
My fingers seek out my negative spaces and yours sink into my newly erupting hipbones.
Nourishment is just a number.
Victory means netting zero
going to bed aching
growling
strong.
As I shrink, I become more visible.



Written by solve_et_coagula (Katherine)
Published
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