A wild rage,

rapped in the coils of my soul.
I want to scream,
I want to cry.
I force it down,
like I force down food I’m told to eat.
Wish the tired dragging feeling would go away,
then maybe I’d feel better.
Do people see the giant weight on me when they look?
Or do they just see a frowning dumb typical teenager.
I want to hit something.
I don’t.
My stomach feels so full with the food.
I hate it.

How many calories do you burn dancing?
Ballet, jazz, modern?
100,
250?
Will my teachers notice that I’m “different”?
My mom tells me they will.
actually it’s my mom who says I’m different,
I don’t see it.
Science is the answer to that my mom says,
genes, eyes, brain.
I don’t give a damn.

I want to dance, laugh,
and run without carrying fifty pounds on my back.
I want to stay up,
babysit the two best kids in the world that I love.
I need food to do that.
Maybe a little more…NO!!!!!!!!
F***, I can’t do it, go away, go away.
Just make it all go away!

Think, I have to think about something else.
I want to cry.
Moms getting me a gym membership.
I can go anytime and keep as fit as possible.
That’s good, I like that.
Can I sleep now?
not tired enough; maybe later.
I son’t know what else to write.
I’m stuck and I can’t get out.
It’s dark and cold.
But part of me wants to be here.
I can’t shake that part off.
It’s stronger than me.
It can push through the cold because I’m doing it,
I’m eating less.
I don’t want that part of me.
But she’s there, day after day after day.
will I pull myself out of this hole,
will someone else?
I’m going to get out…right?
Please.