His secret is hidden beneath layers of clothes
But how empty his tray is at lunch is forever known
Wearing size zero jeans held up by a studded belt
Emerald green eyes for which many girls would melt
His own words echo in his head:
Being this anorexic, I’m better off dead
Anti-depressants and geometry lessons
Yearbook staff and therapy sessions
He weighs to know how much he can eat
Thin stomach, frail hands, skinny feet
This is his form of beauty, love, and lust
His mother cried that this isn’t just

anorexia,

But a mental disorder
I cry because I know this will cut his life much shorter
One hundred twelve pounds
Isn’t as beautiful as it sounds