Happy

it was 2004

the year my father told me that sticks and stones

would shatter bones

but names would never hurt me

by the time i was 16 i was diagnosed with

bulimia and anorexia

i wonder if he still believes that the names won’t hurt me

standing half-naked in front of the mirror

sucking in my tummy trying to mold a better version of myself

but the reflection's laughter told me to find another way

i was never bought up in an environment

where counting calories was practiced like the gospel

or where I could order pills online

to help fit the media’s criteria of the "perfect body"

no

i’m self-taught in that area

in 2017 i obtained multiple organ failure

limiting my food supply had extreme ramifications

i told my father

and i apologised

but his shouting drained my existence

my mind was full of bees

and just like that

i disappeared

several months later i started securing my body

apparently that makes me an inspiration

i wonder if people would still think that

if I told them I took pride in having visible bones

or that i couldn’t help but fall in love

with my anorexia

that praying to the porcelain god

and taking laxatives

felt like i’d won an oscar

my eating disorder

was the most interesting thing about me

time is a wonderful healer

but healing is not easy

what do you want to be when you’re older

'happy'