Food makes me hate myself.
Through sleep-crusted eyes I wake every morning and remember
that I must eat breakfast.
It is 08:33 and I’ve already woken once and fallen back to sleep
partly because I know that I must eat today
and I don’t want to.
I wonder what “breakfast” really is.
The first half hour of my day is spent
poring over memories of what I had the day before
so that I can find inspiration for the morsels I must end my hunger with.
I can’t remember if I even ate breakfast yesterday.
Walls in my brain erected from thoughts of eggs on toast,
cities built in seconds,
cement paste measured from
two parts breadcrumbs, one part tears.
It takes a lot of work to knock this network down
and in doing so force open the hinges of my jaw
to allow food in against my better judgement.
Two rows of white knights standing ready marching in a rhythmic beat
in time to up and down as mastication transforms bacon pieces into guilt.
Maple-glazed disgust dissolving in the chaos of a bite-sized slaughterhouse.
The Unholy Trinity of Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner
make the walls of my castle tremble.
Take their name in vain and–
–they will eat you alive.
I find Hell in streaks of ketchup,
traces of my sins in upset stomachs caused
by eating three whole meals in a day.
I wash myself clean but I can still feel oil in my pores and as I scrub
I shed a layer of my skin but I can still feel the salt in my veins
and I scrub harder still until I’ve carved away enough to expose my bones and then…
My friends ask why I cover up my mirrors.
I tell them that I’m superstitious.
Purple shame hangs heavy under eyes that can’t and won’t make contact with their own reflection,
afraid of what they might see staring back at them.
I’m terrified of laughing in front of people because,
when I laugh for real, my teeth reveal secret snacks snuck in
when nobody is watching.
I live in a nightmare woven from threads of my sanity.
I am a slave to food.
When I wake up I think of food.
At breakfast I think of food.
Before lunch, food.
Snacks food dinner food
dessert food food food
fucking food fat fat fucking fat!
I fell in love with the pangs that struck me
hard inside my abdomen.
I guess I’m just waiting for it to break my heart.