On the Outside

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 everything.

But no one else does.