You're tiny. Your wrist
is as thin as a straw
and your body is
like a metal pole–
skinny and cold
and hard. You're
nothing but a crazy
stack of bones
like razors that
poke through skin
so thin and pale
that you're almost
transparent, and I
imagine seeing your
intestines and
stomach and liver
showing right through,
like a window.
I want to ask
you to eat,
to stop your
head from
counting all
the calories
that is in
each bite
but you
say that
you are
healthy
healing
all right
and that
I should
stop all the
worrying
because
you just
want to be
beautiful.