I used to want to see the bones

poke through my unforgivable skin.
I wanted to feel them rub
within my back,
and tell me
they were the only ones there to support me-
that they were the only ones I needed-
because it was true.

Along my sides
All I craved
was to see the ridges
of my ribs-
like I’d binged on at dinner time,
when I could not
control
the emptiness.

Along my bedside
I would look down
At the points protruding from my hips
And wish I could see
A bit of sternum
Through my chest
So when people met me
They would automatically feel
A little closer to my heart.

The soft glow of the moon reveals
a massive affliction
Within my midsection
-Its gibbous gives me
the honest criticism
that I stay awake
to hear.

I’d like to stay loyal
to the orders of a friend
but my knees are so
so weak.
For longer than just today
I have yet to reach for the handle
to my bedroom door.

I think I dread
The Suns arrival;
It's burning spotlight,
It's anxious opportunities,
The way it brings
curiosity:
Questioning why I am so lifeless.
But the truth is-
I am not.
Out there-
It just makes my heart beat
A bit too fast
for comfort.

I guess I wanted to see my bones
as a reminder
that I wasn't empty-
That there was still
something left
inside.