Eating disorder Poems
75. Surviving
by Kea Campbell
Dinners should be a luxury in concerted cultivation households,
But it was the worst part of each day because of your praise-seeking tolls.
Sure, you fed my stomach and sought to found generations of culinary tradition,
But little do you realize that you fostered my appetite's detrimental addictions.
The dining room was a reformatory and I dreaded the table's restraints.
They left scars all over my psyche as you told me I couldn't leave until I finished my plate.
The taste began to dull but you commanded me not to be wasteful.
The culture of gluttony is under-stigmatized, and the conditioning of over-satiety is disgraceful.
......
63. All The Wrong Reasons
by Kea Campbell
If you were to ask why I wear a weighted vest, I would tell you it's in my best physical interest.
But on a deeper level, body dysmorphia screws with my head, and the lies I tell myself will one day have me dead.
They scream at me to put on the damn vest and don't stop until I can't take another step.
They scream at me to suck it up, so I trek until I inhale but can't seem to catch a breath.
If you were to ask why I'm always with someone, I would tell you that I love my friends and that comfortable silence is truly the best.
But on a deeper level, I can't be alone because of the ways I depreciate myself when there are no witnesses.
If I wake up alone, I rot in bed until it's someone else that might be negatively affected.
If I eat alone, I overindulge, just to come out of the bathroom with my eyes bloodshot and my cheeks puffy and red.
......
70. Polysemy
by Kea Campbell
I find skipping efficient, but I'm not talking about child's play.
The flavor looks bittersweet, yet I've tasted little in days.
Feeling light as a feather, but breeding worthwhile repercussions,
It takes perilous dedication to conceal the pain of perpetual hunger.
I find masks protective, but I'm not talking about immunity.
It lies at my bedside, recharging each night, telling others I'm doing all right in the daytime.
Isolation is serene, but I suffocate in contemplation.
I have yet to find even one who makes me fancy veracious authentication.
......
51. Masked
by Kea Campbell
Every morning, I leave no trace,
And you'd never see past the smile on my face.
You might have asked, and I might have lied,
Truthfully, these are the marks of an angel longing her return to the sky.
Every evening, I argue with the mirror,
Wondering if I should shower right after dinner.
The glass of water in my room becomes all too tempting,
And now I'm caught in a vicious cycle, addicted to feeling empty.
......
59. Sick
by Kea Campbell
My heart races and my mind swivels as it disagrees with the slightest gain.
My stomach knots and my esophagus swells as I indulge in immoderation.
A perpetuation of gourmandization and deprivation founding counter-productivity.
A generation of dissatisfaction with my self-imposed captivity.
I resent my insane commitment and long rehabilitation.
I cherish the parts of me that are left, and dream of a world where the heft of imperfections doesn't found distress.
Sunday 28 July 2024
......
75. Surviving
by Kea Campbell
Dinners should be a luxury in concerted cultivation households,
But it was the worst part of each day because of your praise-seeking tolls.
Sure, you fed my stomach and sought to found generations of culinary tradition,
But little do you realize that you fostered my appetite's detrimental addictions.
The dining room was a reformatory and I dreaded the table's restraints.
They left scars all over my psyche as you told me I couldn't leave until I finished my plate.
The taste began to dull but you commanded me not to be wasteful.
The culture of gluttony is under-stigmatized, and the conditioning of over-satiety is disgraceful.
......
70. Polysemy
by Kea Campbell
I find skipping efficient, but I'm not talking about child's play.
The flavor looks bittersweet, yet I've tasted little in days.
Feeling light as a feather, but breeding worthwhile repercussions,
It takes perilous dedication to conceal the pain of perpetual hunger.
I find masks protective, but I'm not talking about immunity.
It lies at my bedside, recharging each night, telling others I'm doing all right in the daytime.
Isolation is serene, but I suffocate in contemplation.
I have yet to find even one who makes me fancy veracious authentication.
......
63. All The Wrong Reasons
by Kea Campbell
If you were to ask why I wear a weighted vest, I would tell you it's in my best physical interest.
But on a deeper level, body dysmorphia screws with my head, and the lies I tell myself will one day have me dead.
They scream at me to put on the damn vest and don't stop until I can't take another step.
They scream at me to suck it up, so I trek until I inhale but can't seem to catch a breath.
If you were to ask why I'm always with someone, I would tell you that I love my friends and that comfortable silence is truly the best.
But on a deeper level, I can't be alone because of the ways I depreciate myself when there are no witnesses.
If I wake up alone, I rot in bed until it's someone else that might be negatively affected.
If I eat alone, I overindulge, just to come out of the bathroom with my eyes bloodshot and my cheeks puffy and red.
......
59. Sick
by Kea Campbell
My heart races and my mind swivels as it disagrees with the slightest gain.
My stomach knots and my esophagus swells as I indulge in immoderation.
A perpetuation of gourmandization and deprivation founding counter-productivity.
A generation of dissatisfaction with my self-imposed captivity.
I resent my insane commitment and long rehabilitation.
I cherish the parts of me that are left, and dream of a world where the heft of imperfections doesn't found distress.
Sunday 28 July 2024
......
51. Masked
by Kea Campbell
Every morning, I leave no trace,
And you'd never see past the smile on my face.
You might have asked, and I might have lied,
Truthfully, these are the marks of an angel longing her return to the sky.
Every evening, I argue with the mirror,
Wondering if I should shower right after dinner.
The glass of water in my room becomes all too tempting,
And now I'm caught in a vicious cycle, addicted to feeling empty.
......
