12:02.
The lunch bell rings in my ears like the shouting of a sacred secret.
Stop.
Listen to the sound of hunger parading its way through your feeble bones.
Ignore it.
You stepped onto the scale this morning.
You watched as it spat out a number with too many digits after heaving a monotonous sigh.
You stared at the reflection of a girl who couldn’t have possibly been you against a foggy mirror, and you saw the tears staining her crimson cheeks with hopelessness.
Do you want to witness that again tomorrow?
Stay strong.
Steady your gaze upon the clock nailed against the creamy wall.
Don’t look at the sandwiches with veggies and cold cuts violently bursting through.
Don’t look at the empty bags of chips and spilled milk cartons scattered across the floor.
Don’t let temptation crawl beneath your skin and beat your willpower until it bruises.
You hear the choruses of your friends:
“Where’s your lunch?”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
The concern is prominent in their eyes.
You smile, relaxing, and let the excuse slide between your lips like honey from a beehive.
“I must have left it at home again.”
They don’t look satisfied, but in this society, who does?
They begin chomping on their food and you bite your tongue until you can taste raw blood slipping down your throat.
You dig your chilled fingernails into your wrists until they turn purple.
When the period finally ends, you dash out of the cafeteria with your baggy eyes glued to the floor.
You hear the ferocious beast in your stomach begging to be noticed.
Forest fires burn through your esophagus, devouring whatever is left of you.
Not much.
The pain bashes your bones,
Wrenches your ribs,
And harasses your heart,
But when you can see your skeleton through your porcelain skin,
You cannot win
Without realizing true beauty
Comes from within.
Sure, you made a mistake
But it shouldn’t be enough to break
Everything you had
For God’s sake,
Next time, don’t put it all at stake,
Or you’ll forever have to deal with the ache.
Maybe it’s not healthy to have transparent skin.
Maybe eating a piece of chocolate a day
Isn’t going to kill you.
Maybe skipping meals isn’t the answer
To the beauty standards etching their way into your innocent mind.
Maybe you need to treat your body well,
Because, after all,
It’s precious, just like you.
You’re one in seven billion.
You fought through bitter days when gray clouds got in the way,
But you didn’t allow the dismay to
Cause your withered body to decay.
You’re a survivor.
Instead of polluting the sapphire sky
With a smog of broken dreams and chipped promises,
Fill it with ambitions and fields of dahlias swaying with the breeze.
Take some risks and live a little.
Eat that meal.
It’s worth it.
You’re worth it.
You’re doing just fine.
Smile with all your imperfect teeth
And let the beauty of your soul unravel,
All the colorful fibers forming a masterpiece.
Beauty isn’t pain.
Beauty is love.
Beauty is self-care.
Beauty is knowing that you matter.
You are enough.
Scribble that phrase into the paper sky
Before the pages crumble
And the words are illegible.
Never forget it.
Never forget yourself.
Never forget that you-
You’re going to make it
One meal at a time.