I feel uncontrollably empty inside
So I deny
Food.
I have control over that emptiness
I have control over that wrenching pain
I have control over that.
I have control.
I have…
Nothing.
At least not on the inside
On the outside I have everything
But everything I have, I hide.
My intricate map of self-destruction
Lies,
Lies under my tight long sleeves or gloves.
Because of the lie of love
The begging question of will I ever be enough?
How can you ever be enough when you weigh in 90 pounds?
Especially when half of that weight is from gravity holding you to the ground
It’s all that holds you.
Aside from the glue I have placed between your bones.
I thought you needed some sense of structure
Perhaps you don’t remember
Or maybe you cut that away too.