counting

pale, a flitter of nervous hands
dancing around tenuous throats;
my heartbeat cries out --
wait, don't forget me. don't forget
the rituals: drinking soda
(cold and just.opened) while
laying sweaty and naked
under blankets in the summer heat.
without notice, you consume
beverages and saltines
and little else.
the scrawny teen body begins
to look thinner (100 lbs
and counting). summers before,
habitual - stay in the hottest
and un-airconditioned
room in the house. sit. stay. melt.
a new promise lays,
virginal and craving a testride;
a thought, an innocent gleam
of fucked glitter rushes through
a hazard signed mind. "you,
little girl," (condescending,
as always), "could finally be pretty."
i choke on the stardust
that blows out of my eyes.
the summer was easy,
a languid whore to do my bidding,
and i sucked greedily
on her skin, and vomited my
peasant offering to porcelain gods.
i am (90 lbs and counting)
rebuking my growing body's 'needs'.
the need of hunger, the need of survival.
i am all powerful with my too
little thighs and my toobig ribs.
(suddenly i am 3 inches tall and
unemployed, fired by my body).
haven't i been like this
for years now, mama?
always thin, sweaty and
the one whose left out
of all the hip things, the cool
things. like puking in the
high school bathroom, holding
on the highlighted tires
around your slimmingpretty waist.
or sucking on an ice cube
to cool your frayed nerves and
so it looks like you are eating.
(it feels like eating)
(what is this feel?)
"baby," i say to myself, so
that no one will hear,
"you're finally getting there".
(80 lbs and counting and
do.you.love.me.yet?)