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She thought she might be better in 3 days

Or maybe a week or two, she certainly

wasn’t expecting 3 months, although she

should have been expecting that, I mean,

a fellow patient in the hospital told her

“you could be a model if you gained weight”

if she GAINED weight, that’s how

messed up she was, and deep down,

buried under all the lies she knew it

somewhere in her gut, whose cries she’d

been ignoring, and it was SO HARD

to learn how to listen again and for the

longest time she wondered, “How am I

going to fit food in here when there’s

all this anger taking up the space?”


A cathartic piece for DVerse MTB.

Hope’s Secret

This short poem is for DVerse Poetics, where we are writing about secrets. I am also linking to One-liner Wednesday.


Who knows why suffering exists?

Some is open, some is kept secret.

Some believe in future redemption,

But even they will admit:

Only God knows the details

And timing, and He keeps it secret.

 

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

– Romans 8:28 (KJV)

jjj-2020.jpg

Water Under the Bridge?

For the final prompt in the Imaginary Garden, we are revisiting some of the best prompts throughout the years. I chose to write (again) to Sanaa’s prompt about water. 


All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.

– Toni Morrison

 

If all water has a perfect memory,

And my body is 75% water,

Is my memory 75% perfect,

And 25% unsure?

 

My memory, gaslit,

Is imperfect yet legitimate:

My body remembers

What the mind can’t fathom

In depths of horror.

 

Is it water under the bridge?

Is it running through 75%

Of the same rivulets,

Memory trying to be made pure?

When the Past Echoes

There seems to be

No organization —

Yesterday is today

Tomorrow is last week

(Tomorrow is bleak) —

Fifty years from now

Is a second ago,

And three years

Three hundred fifty-

Nine days ago

 

That was is yesterday.


I hope this fits the prompt well enough for DVerse Poetics: Echo.

 

My Story

I wasn’t going to post my response to this prompt, but I kind of like the resulting stream-of-consciousness poem. We are using the following image as bits of inspiration. The picture is called My Story and is by Karina Llergo.

https://revivedwriter.files.wordpress.com/2019/11/4d24f-my-story-001.jpg

One book, flipping open across my spine,
Flapping facing backward, paper wings:
Another tome hovers like a hummingbird
Open away from my face.
What I have read is printed on
My body, this paper-thin skin,
As a magnifying glass scrutinizes
My hip. I have closed my eyes.
My legs are turning into rain,
With water-drops becoming red,
Becoming relief for a tree, becoming ink.
I write what I have read.
I give what I have lived.
But I plant one tree, one tree:
Growing a little more beauty.


Update: I am sharing this with DVerse Open Link Night.

To Change

This prompt from Real Toads, Just One Word: Burnished, was difficult today, but here is my attempt. It’s good to try something I’m not necessarily used to. 


Do not shrink from the friction or the fire,

To live unburnished is to lack a shine.

The fear is true, yet I am no liar,

It is worth the pain to metal refine,

And it’s the same with hearts and minds, listen —

The surfaces and inside will glisten

To change is hard but start — this is your sign.

Mocha Ice Cream With Peanut Butter

brings me back to my childhood —

not because I indulged in this flavor back then

(I didn’t even think of it

as indulging,

just eating) —

but because I loved ice cream, innocent

and happy.

And it didn’t matter if ice cream loved me

back —

The situation is much more, much too

complicated now.


I wrote this poem a few weeks ago and am sharing it for the first time with Jade’s prompt for DVerse Poetics about food. There is so much I could write on this topic. By the way, if you’ve never tried peanut butter on top of ice cream, you should try it; it’s my favorite! 

On Inner Beauty

For this.


What kind of advice can I impart

Without feeling like I’m playing a part,

Living like a hypocrite?

Which is the message I can give,

Which I can accept myself?

(Can I accept myself?)

 

My poems are the message:

Make room for your words, a haven,

Make room for yourself, do not give in

Until the negativity is crowded out.

Allow not the silencing of the spirit’s shout.


Update: I am sharing this poem with DVerse Poetics this week, because living with an eating disorder and especially the associated thoughts is absolutely maddening. Thankfully I am much better than 2 or 3 years ago, but it still hasn’t really gone away…