Shaky, rattling breath sound like music in my ears
Like the comments
Providing applause, cheers
For how beautiful I’ve become
How graceful I have grown
How could anyone say it’s wrong? A problem? A sickness, even?
No sickness I have ever known has ever made anyone feel as at home as I do when someone notices the progress I’ve made
No sickness is beautiful
As beautiful as sharp protruding bones
As razor thin thighs
As delicate hands and silent footsteps
No
This craft, this art is a gift that I have mastered
So close to me at hides behind my eyes
And burrows into my brain like a beautiful parasite
Convinces me to break my own heart
Because the cracks are more beautiful than I will ever be
Beautiful!  Shaky fingers down my throat
Pinching and prodding at my “perfect” flat belly
Beautiful thinning hair crumbling to beautiful dust made by fairies and supermodels
Beautiful short breaths and even shorter lifespans
And delicate dying flowers in wilting heaps on the cold, lonely floor
Beauty
(such a gift)
Few can recognize that glow your skin gets
A sickly radiance bringing down to your fingertips as if to mock healthy skin
The sickliness made sweet by Splenda and crooked smiles
And magazines
And other (not-so) beautiful things, romanticized
That never let you let yourself bring love into your own heart for you
The hollow idea of the fullest thing in the world
Beauty