The Young and the Anorexic

My stomach is bloated,
To my eyes alone.
In my eyes I’m chubby,
Not skin and bone.

If I weren’t anorexic,
I would finally be free.
But since I’m anorexic,
I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

Nobody knows my secret.
I’ll never tell a soul.
But if in my eyes I’m fat,
Why is my nickname “Beanpole?”

My arms and my legs,
They all look like sticks.
My stomach is hollow,
I really feel sick.

My ribs begin to poke out,
My stomach is really thin.
I cannot sit down in a hard chair,
Or my bones will poke through my skin.

At 5’2” as my height,
At 56 pounds I weigh.
And if my weight were to stay the same,
At 56 pounds I’d stay.

But since the scale plunges downward,
I cannot help but grin.
Even though it’s not enough,
Eventually I’ll win.

But in the mirror,
I really feel cursed.
My stomach is bloated,
And it’s not just a first.

My thighs are bulging,
I must weigh a ton.
My limbs look like logs.
This isn’t much fun.

Is my life
Reduced to this?
If it is not,
I’ll be in bliss.

Why must I suffer,
When no one else does?
My life is in shambles.
That’s all anorexia does.

My friends tell me to eat more,
But what do they know?
I know what I’m doing,
But my “diet” is a little slow.

My stomach never seems to flatten
Neither do my thighs.
While everyone lives a normal life,
My life is full of “whys?”

I’ve never felt sicker
Than I have these past few days.
How long must I suffer this?
I suffer in many ways.

Nobody can tell I’m sick.
Maybe ‘cause I’m smiling.
But only on the outside,
‘Cause inside, I’m dying.