(no subject)

[taratemima]

I had an idea for this poem after watching a newscast on 'pro-anorexia' websites



Anorexia mirabilis

Terrified
of looking like me?
Well, face me,
I don't set out to be your darkest fear.

Look at me,
it's the least you can do,
I'm facing my fear after all.

You're a suicide on an installment plan,
like your mother like her mother like hers
and you talk to me
like it's a revelation,
a fucking miracle.

Miracle?
Curse.
I don't find your cracking voice lovely,
the ribcage sticking beautiful
your shrinking posture envious.

I know my mistakes,
but I will not make yours.

Do you go out
and wonder why
people stare gasping
at this spectre
like Jesus at the tomb
or maybe better,
Samuel at Endor?

You stay in your room,
trading secrets of
cubed apples and
water fasts,
small meals for a shrinking body.

In your cell,
protected by perfume bottles and CDs,
waiting in the darkness
for a miracle, for an entrance
into the choir of size two saints,
ignoring your martyred heart,
your beheaded will.

You're terrified of me.
You pray to be a nothing.
I'm terrified
there is nothing I can do
to stop you.