I drove you away. You’ve returned to define my body, my soul;
anywhere I go you follow, burrowed deep within a pocket of my genes.
Stop pretending to be my friend, I am your captive, helplessly watching
you force me to be lite as I am surrounded by darkness.
Trapped in this self-imposed desert of malnutrition
I return to the god damn scale; my hands shaking,
hair falling out, heart wanting to give way.
What have you done? Why must you strike again?
The doctors say I need more: calories, rest, peace.
Doctors are not what I need, with their facts and figures:
I know the equation, I’ve seen the answer.
I don’t want the fancy treatments,
just someone (other than you) to hold my hand.
By: Genevieve Morrow
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