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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