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“I don’t think I can get better, it just keeps getting worse.”

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don’t even say that to me.
I’ve hated my body so much
I’ve burned and scratched it
and our friend Eloise
throws herself against walls
until there are holes in her sheetrock
and purple kisses on her shoulders.
Sylvia Plath slammed her head
in an oven and our friend Georgia
tried to kill herself once.

and all of us
have had better and worse times.
and all of us but dear Sylvia
have survived
and she left behind a legacy at least.
and, darling, if we can do it
so can you.
it does get better.
but it will not get better if you don’t try
it just won’t.

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