Reflection

My eyes glance at the lightbulb behind me.

The mirror in front of me turns it’s light gold and bright.

I stare long and hard enough for my eyesight to become blurry from the brightness of the light it sheds.

I know that eventually I will have to look down at myself, but I can’t bring myself to do so.

I don’t remember the first time I began to enjoy the feeling of and empty stomach.

The first plate of food that I threw in the compost bin with a powerful feeling that almost made me feel proud of myself.

It was almost as if starving had become my new religion.

And this body, though not at all of spiritual value to me, had become my secret church.

I guess this body still belongs to him in some way.

Sometimes late at night, I feel his fingers wrapped around my waist, holding me down.

Trying to drown me in the memories of him my head keeps playing over and over again like adverts on a tv screen.

I chose to keep his secret in the cellar of myself, so only I am to blame for the power he still has.

I want to speak up, but what if I do and nobody listens.

I want to speak up, but what if I do and my words do not form as I wish.

I want to speak up, but what if I do and the room suddenly goes quiet.

I want to speak up, but what if I do and they believe another story.