Bad Poetry

Not an Eating Disorder

It’s not an eating disorder

but it’s forcing my fingers down my throat and

it’s me crying because I can never successfully purge

It’s not an eating disorder

but it’s eating breakfast, lunch and dinner and being conscious of every bite I take, 

feeling guilty,

feeling as though every swallow weighs me down 

It’s not an eating disorder

but it’s cutting into my stomach and thighs

because I hate the way they look, a spreading and persistent fat 

It’s not an eating disorder

but it’s crying in the mirror when I see my naked body, 

grabbing onto the fat of my arms and wishing things were different

and that I looked more like my mother or sister

It’s not an eating disorder

but it’s skipping breakfast some days, 

black coffee holding me over until I can’t take the sound

of my stomach growling 

I’m glad it’s not an eating disorder

I am 

But I’m still looking for ways to love me,

to feel good about eating,

to watch my body change and be okay with it 

It’s hard but I’m trying

and I’m so lucky in the sense

that it’s not an eating disorder