Shrinking – A poem about eating disorders

I am sharp edges that hurt
when they are touched.
A hollow chest
with a heart that thuds
exhausted with each breath.
Numbers are my power source
but like how an electric stove
is never quite as good as gas,
I am a slave to the backup
that threatens to sputter out
when I push too hard.

This second-rate life defeats me.
I am an empty vessel
going nowhere but down
and I have no one to blame
but myself.
I am counting down days
until my weight equals death
because there is no joy in
learning to fall.

Turns out living without
is not living at all
and those size 6 jeans
were not made to be worn by

Turns out the people who care
about your size,
they’re not worth keeping.
Turns out magazine are not interested
in teaching you to love what you have
because then,
who would buy magazines?

Take me back to when my little chubby hands
held ice cream cones on the beach,
to when the best part of birthdays was
digging in to cake.
Take me back to when diet culture
was not a thing,
to when going up a size was exciting
because it meant that you were
Take me back to when food was enjoyable
and not just a source of guilt.

I’m sick of teaching myself how to shrink.
This was not the future I had in mind
when I thought about growing up.

Edit: An alternative name for this was ‘Hollow Bodies’ let me know in the comments which title you prefer


5 thoughts on “Shrinking – A poem about eating disorders

  1. If only more people saw it this way. So many people miss out on living because they are too busy worried about things that really don’t matter. Great write!


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