i turn to the comfort of food
stuff my face whole
until i can convince my brain
with additives, sugar, and transfat
that im ok
even when things are falling apart
i forget the days
i cry and scream and hurt
in that single moment i pick the spoon up
filled with glistening vanilla ice cream
and bring it to my mouth
i like to think with my stomach
than with my brain
because it makes the noise less harsh, the words
less painful, the loneliness less empty
but this is a double-edged sword
that makes me hate my body
and i
relive the cycle
forever
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Miscontrued Sentences
ПоэзияNo one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
