Reflections on Food

I used to scrape the mirror and 

stamp on scales, uncovering 

I used to punch at fat and ostracise 

the fridge, curl in on myself 

until the numbers dialled down. 

A challenge of counting time and 

calories – how long could I last 


10% battery?

Clothes ate with luxurious abandon,

chewing skin, cleaning bones, 

crunching confidence. 

Criticised for being irresponsible, 

but how could I be irresponsible 

when it wasn’t a choice?

How could I be irresponsible 

when food was not a necessity, 

but a prize for good girls?

Responsibility never got involved, 

it was that bloody voice, echoing 

abuse all hours of the day. 

Glaring at magical junk, eyes tasting 

all the comfort and warmth. 

Habits form easily 

when you’re committed

to beating the shit out of yourself. 

Stress was a convenient excuse, 

so perhaps it was you who was 

irresponsible, for swallowing 

my bullshit with easy hope. 


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