Size Six Now Starving

She’s porcelain, skin bound to frail
white bone beneath her blush-painted face,
a four o’clock flower bent to bloom,
but waiting, waiting for another hour
to take in sunshine, nourishment,
the withering petals of a sickly girl
who’s forced to press back starvation
if only for the glowing approval
of a boy who’s never seen her anyway.

Will he see her
when she’s smaller?
When she’s eaten
herself away?

She’s broken, hungry, thin, and white,
a flower, withered, losing light.