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
Clothes ate with luxurious abandon,
chewing skin, cleaning bones,
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.