i miss the days when
my father didn't think i was
anorexic, when
my mother didn't have to
check my wrist,
back before the old me
crashed &

burned.

in the awkward silences between the four of us (mom, dad, physchiatrist, and
me...yay),
i nervously twist my friendship bracelet (she's not my friend anymore),
and try not to be sick, since you're expecting me

to talk

and you're getting NOTHING...

(like talking to a wall)

my parents always go on
and on, "do you realize how
hard this is for us? we don't know how to
help you
if you won't tell us what's wrong with you!"

what's wrong with you? my parents' faces scream.
isn't it obvious? that i don't know? isn't it obvious, that

it's even harder for

me.

and i want to be daddy's girl and mommy's baby but i can't if you don't accept me for who i am

can you understand? don't you understand?

please