The Hunger

The following poem I wrote about fifteen years ago when I was in my early twenties.  Almost my entire life, I have struggled with my weight.  My frustrations with this process came out as this poem:

The Hunger

You can tell by the back of my legs that I eat dinner.
I should starve like a good girl.
Yes. Delicious sound. Starve.
That easy to be loved.
Starvation.

To wake up,
Stand on spindly legs (not one ounce of fat),
stretch out my lean body.  Bones like letters
spell out beauty, spell out yes.

Dreams like little green vegetables devoured slow,
like me thinning,
fall from my slender legs into somewhere.

Hear these sounds of hunger:
Faint music, drums.
My clothes just loose enough. Yes.
Beautiful, a dream, a bird, yes.