That overstuffed couch
where my thighs ran miles wide.
That room with windows for walls,
plastered with documents of self-satisfaction
and that damned scale.
The transparent cat
lurking in the far corner,
reflecting the tears of sad snow.
Every session, my eyes pounding the floor,
every session his eyes pounding into my cracked skull-
searching for answers– “I don’t know”
His smug face
making money off of the starving.
The disordered brains and skeleton girls
float into his office skating along ice,
leaving no shavings in their wake
1 in 10 will get better.
I am that one, I thought I was
until the burning in the back of my brain
began whispering lies to my eyes-
deceiving the perceptions of my gut
in the pool of the mirror.
I am Eve, but I am afraid of the ever expanding waist line
and see no beauty in the pool of my murky reflection.