Anonymous

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...

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 dad, her...