The truth is
I am tired
and hungry for something
that isn’t my body
I’m tired
of eating myself alive every day
tied of trying to stop myself
from tearing and clawing
and consuming
bite after bite until nothing remains
because all I want to do
is disappear from the pain –
if only I could eat myself
if only I could be the Wolf
and Little Red Riding Hood
I could know peace
as I licked my bones white
in the afternoon sun
content that I had consumed
all the parts of myself
that I was afraid to see –
all that would remain
were the parts I loved –
but I didn’t know that I would eat myself up
eat myself whole
because every inch of my being
made my skin craw –
but hate makes your flesh bitter
and rotten
and I would throw myself up
over and over again
the truth is
you and I can’t eat ourselves up
can’t strip away the parts
we don’t like –
we can only wash them
in the saltwater of our tears
wrap them up carefully
as if they are broken
and set to loving them whole
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