It's a mental struggle. I am making myself sicker by the day, shoveling immense amounts of food into my overworked stomach. I can feel my body rejecting me; I spin in fatigue as the pressure in my abdomen doubles and it's not that I want to die, but I don't want to endure this pain anymore. I wonder what it would be like to not have a body, just to be a free spirit roaming the earth unchained of pain, aching, and disgust. My body is my home and sometimes you don't like where you live...
I want to move
to another state
across the country
to a different planet
floating peacefully in space.
where the stress melts away like hot honey
where my shoulders fall back
where I can feel my heart lift and sway
where my spirit tingles
and I can separate this broken home with the spirit occupying it.
This poem is about my struggle with health and bulimia, describing the feeling of not exactly wanting to commit suicide but also not being a part of my body anymore was the ultimate goal of this piece.