Poems

I wished to reach the stars - that one day, it wouldn’t seem so awful to feel the shape and glow afar. I slipped, and fell into the abyss the darkness enveloping my body, no light in sight, Until I realized, the stars I kept chasing, reaching, were already under my skin – stretch marks I tried to ignore small lights that appeared to be my enemy marked every place I was torn open. What I searched for above me, was the same thing written on me constellations made from damaging

Strength was never who could do the most with the least. Strength is fighting an enemy even when you're exhausted, even when you don't want to because it's hard and because you're not sure. Strength is being able to change your mind on what strength is.

I see the world beyond the shadows, A world that is bright and free Where people smile and joy fills the air I reach my fingertips out, The orange blaze burning my skin, The doctors tell me, To reach the sky, You must hold yourself to the supreme. Heal your rattling mind full of illnesses, Restore your body of chronic disease, Alleviate those symptoms, And those speeches every day spoken by your broken mind. Those endless talks given by doctors too, “Loose the weight, and you

Dear Bug,  I know how you feel in that Star Wars shirt and I know how you feel in everything else I know seeing yourself in the shirt makes you feel euphoric  Euphoric means feeling pleasured or having intense happiness, bug But I do know that most of everything else you put on makes you feel obscene  Obscene means disgusting, bug I know you are now becoming exposed to the internet You are finally becoming aware of diet culture And of the need to be skinny  But isn’t this som

Did she too worry about her body? Was she ashamed of how skinny she was? Did she have doctors commenting on her weight too? I hope not. I hope that her body did not stop her dreams, Her passion, Her energy, I hope one day she’ll see how beautiful she is. How her clothes fit her just right, In all the perfect places, And that she’ll stop asking how she looks like. How this color matches her pigmented shiny skin, If she should apply heavy makeup, To look at the tangible mask sh

A new journey to begin from deep within Take all the time you need, no judgement, negativity, pain or self-doubt to proceed Self-love and self-acceptance, this is where you start Practice as needed until they are embedded deep within your heart. Only you get to decide what’s best for you, so choose whatever brings you joy, embrace  all that comforts you and all that is good as only you would. Seize every opportunity to love yourself, to see yourself as the unique, irreplaceab

A long winter felt the nights  when all I had was my  cold, sick body. I felt the snow drop as my insides had fallen out, when my head rested  against the toilet. A searing summer felt the days when I felt as if I was going to die, running away from my feelings. Stinging sweat clung to my full chest, which I wished it not to be. A looming feeling sank  into the bowl of green grapes that I ate at camp, hoping someone noticed that it was the only thing I had eaten all day. I fe

My body is an echoing cathedral built on shifting ground, its stained-glass windows warping every color into something sharper than light. When I walk inside myself, the floorboards remember every hesitation. They creak with the weight of ghosts I never meant to invite. There is a river that runs through me, thin as a wire, carrying reflections I do not recognize. The water keeps rewriting my silhouette, shaving truths into angles, turning softness into a language I am told I

They taught us the body is a city the gods may enter at will. So I learned early how to lock my gates. Apollo came first— not with plague, but with measure. He laid his lyre across my ribs and said: only what is tuned survives. I listened. Demeter passed me by in winter. Her hands were full, and I pretended not to be starving so she would not stop. I told myself this was discipline. The earth believed me. I counted like a priestess. Seeds. Hours. Bones. Every omission felt li

I watch her every day and I see everything she does. The lunch table hears her murmur about going to the bathroom but only I discern the faint gagging after she disappears to carve her belly whole. The nurses disregard her, painting her emptiness as hunger, but only I hold her hand as she traces the flaring of her ribs. Her boyfriend teases her, squeezing her cheeks and arms, but only I see her falter as she pinches her thighs. I know her thoughts I feel her emotions I see ev

I heard crying from downstairs It was just like any other night, My stuffed animals smiling in the corner, My collection of books waiting to be read, But something was not right, Especially because the crying didn't involve yelling Mom wasn't angry She just did not feel beautiful Beautiful woman, with a big heart and an impeccable drive I admire her in so many ways But none of them had to do with her body But I know she has always believed that her body meant something, To my

When I look in the mirror, I look too fat, Too wide, My clothing oversized, Tell me, is someone lying to me? When I speak out loud, My voice shuts down, My hands instinctively adjusting my clothes, My mind holding me captive, Tell me, am I lying to myself? When I step onto the scale, I see overweight written on it, I begin writing down my calories, Checking everything I grab at the store, Tell me, is my reality a lie? When I sit down, I make sure to tuck my stomach, To lift m

i learned my body the way people learn enemies— by watching closely, by flinching first. mirrors became witnesses, never kind, never silent. every curve a crime, every softness a failure. i shrank myself into apologies, into numbers, into “almost enough,” believing if i disappeared neatly i might finally be seen. now i know —it was never my body that was toxic, it was the voice that taught me to hate living in it.

I spent my youth in careful thought Of shape and measure, worth and frame, Believing virtue might be found In lesser breadth, in smaller claim. I learned to weigh myself in glances, To read each silence as decree, And held my form to harsh account As though it stood for all of me. How quick the world instructs the eye To judge the vessel, not the soul; How readily we mistake the part For evidence of the whole. Yet time, that patient tutor, shows What youth is loath to underst

I learned my body through mirrors, through numbers whispered like verdicts, through the way praise arrived only when I took up less space. I learned to negotiate with hunger, to call it discipline, to mistake silence for strength and absence for control. But this body— it carried me through classrooms and kitchens, held my breath when I cried in bathrooms, showed up every day even when I wanted to disappear. I blamed it for changing, for softness, for need, for not staying sm

She learns early to fear her reflection. Not for what it shows, but for how much it lies. Some days it stretches her. Some days it shrinks her. Some days it makes her disappear entirely. Still, she looks — because not looking feels like failing, and she has spent her whole life trying not to fail at being someone she never chose to be. There are mornings when her body feels borrowed, stitched together from apologies she never meant to make. She tugs at her shirt, at her skin,

I heard what you said about me today. Did those words feel close to home? We are more similar than you think I can picture you on the scale with tears in your eyes I can see you sitting in front of a plate of food, with knots in your stomach I see you within me But I know me, do you know you? Do you carry the pride of being a kind person on your back,  Even though you want to die? Then you aren’t truly me, not really But I don’t see it in that way  I see you as hurt I see you

I wake inside this husk of silk as if the world stitched it too small. The walls breathe against me, whispering shapes I should take when I finally tear them open. My own wings worry me. They shine too loudly in the dark, a brightness I never asked for— colors that feel like they belong to braver creatures. I press my body to the chrysalis, feeling its thin certainty, wondering if the world outside measures wingspan like worth. When I move, the chamber tightens— a reminder th

I am the consumer of my imperfections. I wonder if the rolls on my neck can be stripped away. I hear cries and regrets rising from my stomach. I see the numbers on the scale climb higher. I am the consumer of my imperfections. I pretend that I am skinny and able to wear clothes that fit me. I feel the tightness of the fabric cinching my frame. I touch and prod my mind, holding it in chains. I worry that it will never be enough for me. I cry and wail until I purge the doubt. I