cw: disordered eating, death
I have had no appetite for a week, even looking at food makes me sick.
In no time they will praise me for this, saying I look like a stick.
But that is just a trick, just a thing they do when they smell my misery,
It is a rotten fruit grown by those who cannot accept my victories.
I have this fantasy that they take me away in a small and shiny casket,
It gets stronger when I drive in a taxi, so real I cannot hide or mask it.
My life runs like water from a faucet, I want someone to drain it all,
Block the pipes, burn the towels, let the pressure rise and fall.
And then – just one more fall and it is winter forever, so white and calm.
They fake tears as they cry for me, they giggle when the priest reads the psalms…
I bury my face in my cold palms because I am sick from the vertigo,
And I snap at my mother even though she almost died two weeks ago.
When everything falls like dominoes, why am I still here, why am I breathing?
What did I do to deserve this chaos, this painful choking and heaving?
Because of you, I have had no appetite for a week, I am empty.
You fed me one poisoned apple, swearing that it would be more than plenty.
But that is just a trick, just a thing they do when they smell my wrath,
It is a rotten fruit grown by their fear, it knows I will never follow their path.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 