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2003-05-14 @ 12:44 a.m.
when my puppy yawns the roof of his mouth looks like a tiny ribcage. I run my fingers across it, and it reminds me of my own. Satisfaction for me comes with apparent ribs and jutting hipbones. It is a sick sort of satisfaction, but the fact that i can hang on to my rib cage with my fingers, makes me smile, as well as the fact that my hipbones now stick out even when i am standing up, as apposed to before when i was merley laying down.
and i never imagined myself to be this person. I never even cared to wear make-up and i always liked the way that my butt filled out jeans, and the curve of my calf. But now, my pats sag, and my legs have gone boney.
This accomplishment is not what i thought i would be aspiring to at age 19. But this is what I am right now. This is what consumes me. The mirror and the scale.
But i have to admit, my eyes have lost their sparkle, and my cheeks their color. But it is a small price to pay to be perfect right?
in a society that is so consumed with appearance, I have always tried to go against the norm. I have never been model thin, and i always told myself that jutting ribs = bad in bed. My beauty is not conventional. I have hair that stands out in curls like twisted wires, and i have a small mouth. spray of freckles, and lets face it i don't even push a B in cup size. But i never had a problem with the boys. I used to love me. And i think that was what i had going for me.
maybe all years of quiet solitude, holed up in my room, listening to melodic, melancholy music has gotten the best of me. Maybe finally the media has done the trick, and convinced me that i am not beautiful.
But my dad and boyfriend would deny that statement to the death. I am beautiful they say.
But they don't see me ignoring food, or vomiting it up each night. Face red, legs shaking, stomach heaving, veins popping. Vomit.
It is a sad and lonley affair.
Is this who i want to be? It is who I've become.
Not a writer, not a poet, not a wanderer.
Fuck