of smoothies and sadness
my strawberry banana smoothie reeks of rotting trash.
two hundred hurts of life
and guilt pierces like a knife.
voices turns to static,
and my heartbeat's erratic.
(the cashier called me pretty.
no, i said, i'm dead.
just a corpse messing up a rose bed
of soft skin and stomach lining
i have never felt so useless.
im sorry; i'm excuseless
but all he heard was "thank you,"
so all i did then was run
without telling him i'm done).
my strawberry banana smoothie tastes like failure.
some days are like this—
not a straight line—hit or miss,
i wonder if the berries were red or brown.
hands are shaking,
whatever i think i'm faking,
is only that—a thought
and it ought to count for naught.
my strawberry banana smoothie looks sad.
i trace the glass with my finger,
crushing the beads that linger,
then i gnaw
on the straw.
i want life.
i want to end this strife.
this is how i choose revival,
even if i only eat for survival.
author's notice: recovery is tough, but if i'm not recovering i am dying. there are days when lunch makes me cry and new food has me gagging. i wrote this to taylor swift's new year's day. on a different note, the thought on colours of berries is an actual thought that i constantly have. it matters to my ed. hope you like it or relate to it?