BODY IMAGE Poem: The Thinking Stick: Confessions from an Ex-Anorexic, by Shelby Monet

I crave cravings;
The heaviness of hunger,
And the weight of losing years.
Feeling empty fills me up.
I’m never without a cup
Of liquid deception.
No one speaks about the hit
Of lying and hiding away,
Like a sugar rush;
A thing I’ve not had in years.
Feeling hollow, told I’m shallow,
Yet my emotions are deep.
Am I a tree trunk or a trench?
No type of media can portray
Such a mind in disarray.
Beneath the flurry lies a chance
To be a sage contributor.
If I can find my way back
Through the brush,
And pump myself full of
Enough false wisdom,
To see through the fog.
To reach into the haze
And pull out the key;
The “off” switch.
To plunge said revelation
Into the dark, twisting,
With hope, for light.
But when I see it, I spin.
Maybe my body does, too,
But at least it’s my head.
Perhaps I could go back
The way I came,
But it would be a different path.
Like Hansel and Gretel,
I lost my breadcrumbs.
And I’d have to count my steps
Along the way.

Author: poetryfest

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