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• the true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words •

Message from Writer

Just a sporadic writer who drinks too much tea

Black Hole (TW: eating disorders)

September 18, 2020


I am very aware that there is something I have never written about.
Something that, even six years and a handful of halcyon days later,
still claws and cloys at my throat in quiet moments. Sometimes you hold me
close and I feel the bee-sting of your hipbone against my thigh, and

for a second I am cast back to fear and anger and whatever it was that
kept us ticking through. Sometimes I spot the sharp summit of elbow
or jaw out of the corner of my eye and I panic all over again, am cast back
to your sharp-toothed body in the bathtub, barely displacing the water as your

shipwrecked bones sank to the seabed. I remember our mother placing
her hand against your chest, feeling the condemning evidence, the flutter of
your accelerated heartbeat that showed you had once again been running
yourself ragged, a hoarder stealing away sit-ups and squats,

terrified of being still. One time I came into your room to find you splayed,
mid-workout: when I accused you of burning calories which you were
no longer entitled to shed I stood and watched a blatant lie twist
from your lips. I wondered if you had lied to yourself so much by that point

that you could only assume I would have to believe it too.
I look at you now, your bright eyes and soft, glowing skin
and I am astounded yet again at your march through the flames
of everything that tried to devour you. And I know that sometimes

you feel as if you have gone out without your wedding ring,
that you still feel the hole your illness used to embody
like a band of absence tied about your waist. As you move
through empty air that was once the only thing that made you feel full,

it cannot help but sing in elegy to all the space it used to occupy inside you.
You know as well as I do that there is still that girl, somewhere, in a frown,
in the back of a dream, smiling gaunt and empty in the photos from a holiday
your mother still cannot bear to think about. She cannot hurt you now,

and the world cannot hurt her. But sometimes I catch a glimpse of the ghost
you used to be and I cannot help but remember the times when I looked
at you, your aching bones, the bare shelving of your rib cage, and felt jealous,
instead of horrified, because I knew I could never have the self-control to do

what you do. Occasionally, in the darkest corners of my mind, I think
I even respected you. I wondered if following you into the black hole
you called home could possibly make me as pretty or skeletal as you
or could at least
make me disappear.

This is the thing that scares me the most.


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  • September 18, 2020 - 9:21am (Now Viewing)

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  • jun lei

    this hurts. "i wondered if following you into the black hole you called home could possibly make me as pretty or skeletal as you or could at least make me disappear." and it scares me too. how far we'll go to fit what society calls beauty. don't erase yourself, darling. i know some will say it with falsehood gleaming in their eyes, but you are beautiful. weight doesn't define who you are. and i know it isn't as easy as simply telling yourself that--this is something i've struggled with, too. but beauty isn't what you look like. it's who you are. and no one can deny you that, not when you write like this and you are who you are.

    2 months ago
  • Paisley Blue

    I second what bwaydreams <3 said. This is a very powerful poem, but wtw will most likely take it down. Don't be discouraged—it is written very well and it speaks very truthfully to these feelings. This is very raw and real. Nice job <3

    2 months ago
  • WitchyKittyKat

    this is... this is really good. my heart aches for you but i understand, i really do. im glad i got to read this before it gets taken down (no offense, but it will. wtw doesnt usually like this kind of stuff. they take it down when i write it). honestly though, just thanks for writing it. its so beautiful, yet painful and emotional. it must have been hard to write, and i commend you for doing so. great work.

    2 months ago