They all stare at me. Up and down and back. They don't see my breats or my hips, they only see a nightmare.
"You need to stop losing weight." they tell me.
But I don't listen.
I don't care what they say.
All I want is to be thin.
Hip bones so sharp, they could cut people.
Holes in my sternum.
Ribs so prominent you could hold pencils between the spaces.
I'm failing mirrors,
and phone calls.
And that's the problem. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out.
But it's a lie.