I think I started my new life
As an anorexic angel.
I woke up to my chapped pink lips
Breathing snow that looked like ash
In a world full of that heavy dampening
Like the afternoon your stereo
Fell into the lake.
My milk skin, stretched too tight
Across my curled bones
Had long forgotten the flavor
Of your cigarette stains on the curtains.
I stretch out my paper thin body
And I swear that my dark hair is
The only contrast between
My shallow collarbones and the winter.
I was clothed by the nudity
That is thrust upon us by innocence,
My soft, slight, shivering breaths
Puffing up into space,
Unsure of their destination.
Wearing a blanket of goosebumps,
Reaching out with dry hands
And cracked nailbeds
Sent me reeling into an ocean of white
A blinding silence,
Like a mute into a trumpet.
I was not born beautiful.
The first sounds I made were that of choking
On the memory of my crimes of self-hate.
My first word was why,
My first movement a nauseous whirl
Trying to collect some semblance of reality
Inside this blinding whiteness.
I was born with the aftertaste
Of the little white pearls I had swallowed
And now found spilt about my breast,
The acid memory of wanting to die,
The corrosive scent of my fear.
I think I was stillborn,
With aching bones and a breaking hair
And no nourishment within my skin.
My dented halo tastes like iron,
And it’s wrapped around my throat.
My wings are ragged and white, so white,
So new and so dead.
I let the water race over my skin
Until it ran as cold as the ashes that fell
Because I wasn’t pure enough for snow.
I let the memory settle in my mind,
The way it felt when
You invaded my brokenness.
I traced your scratches on my hipbones
And the soreness in my limbs.
I laid on the floor
That God would have more mercy
On His little anorexic angel.