a body of art.

I’m not one to let others be my compass.
I don’t wear the right clothes or hang out with the right people.
I don’t paint my face to fit in or smoke because it’s the cool thing to do.
I wear clothes that turn heads and I’m followed by whispers.

Some girls don’t eat.
Some don’t keep their food.
They say it’s caused by desperation to fit it.
They say it’s caused by media.

When I counted my pounds I said I was an athlete.
Everyone thought I was trying to make a weight class.

The truth was secret from everyone but me.
When I was a highschool freshman I took a bottle of Tylonal.
No one ever knew.
When I was a college junior I stopped feeling hunger.
No one will even guess.

They think I’m too confedient to care what they think.
But when my shirt is too tight they tell me I’m ripped
When my pants are too low they tell me that I’m sexy.
One more pound I drop, one more complement I earn.
People stare when I walk by and I could date any guy I want.

The pounds are fleeing and not one person knows what I’ve done.
How many pounds will I drop before my body rebels

I can feel it now.
When I wake up I am tired
Every pound I lift aches worse than before.
How many will my body give?