And yes in my mind I equate skinny with pretty
because I’m only ever happy when I’m too small
to fit into a size zero
and my self confidence feeds off of
my hip bones
so they better be showing or
I’ve got nothing to live off.
I need my flesh to be a mirror for
my soul
because maybe I won’t have to pretend to
be all here
if I’ve been stripped down to nothing more than
collar bones, hip bones, back bones, rib bones,
cheek bones.

I once had a friend tell me she was sick of pretending she
needed to shower
so that the sounds of the water covered up
her retching but I
never had to pretend. I was never on the same
side of the house as my father
and my mother was three states away
and there was never anybody to notice
when I brought a knife into
the shower with me
or stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes
crying on the floor with a finger
down my throat like a sword
cutting me off from ever feeling happy.

But at this point, I wouldn’t have known
“happy”
if it climbed into my bedroom window as I tossed and
turned unable to sleep because
my stomach growled and the tiger
inside clawed to be let out.
No,
I wouldn’t have known “happy” if it wrapped
its arms around me
I didn’t even remember what a hug
felt like.

I counted each day how many times I touched
someone else and most
of the time the board was
left empty and I stared at it thinking surely there
had been a brush of hands as I reached for the
homework assignment at the same time as
the person next to me
or put my hand on a friend’s shoulder to
let them know I was behind them
but the pages were rarely marred by the blank ink
because I closed myself off from everybody and I
expected them to reach out for me
but they never saw me in the water in the first place.

I went out to dinner with my friends at least once
a week and yet they never pieced
two and two together when I never failed
to utter,
“I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick,”
directly after I finished eating
and came back with tears pricking in my eyes
hot like the fires of hell and the scars on
my hips
and I guess they just didn’t know they needed
to look
because in their eyes I wasn’t happy
but I was pretty because
I was skinny and who had the right to whine when
I got to wear all the bathing suits they didn’t
and didn’t have to feel embarrassed at the beach
or search through the store for
something that will fit me.

I never had to go without comments
on how little I ate
but I guess people are more inclined to believe,
“I’m just not hungry,”
because if all you are is skin
then it makes sense that there’s not much room
in your stomach for anything other than
self hatred but they just
all went along with it saying I needed to eat more
but never pushing or noticing
when I didn’t eat dinner
because even though my dad was right
down the hall, my dinner was up to
me and I didn’t see him except once
a day
so what did he know about how much I ate
or how much I threw up.

I guess I was just in a steel cage that
nobody had a key for
and I tried to get out but
it was too exhausting so I decided to just
stay put and settle for the life
I had been handed
because,
what do I have to be sad about anyway,
right?