Sunday, June 1, 2014

The 9am Appointment

The pills,
They make me beautiful.
There’s no point
In being myself.
They keep me perfect and quiet,
Submissive little lark
You can stuff between
The fat cheeks
Of your briefcase
And forget the flesh
That left me.
Watch me shiver,
Seedless dandelion,
My inner wounds
A cripple-stick,
Pushing against my throat
Until I cannot swallow,
My mind a brush-fire
Of memories and
I’m singed, you see.
So small and incomparable,
I’ve almost forgotten
The curves that were
Supposed to define my contour,
Make me a woman.


**Written of the eating disorder anorexia nervosa.  I know, I have been.

Written for a prompt at Magpie Tales.

10 comments:

  1. SO many great lines in your poem .... nicely done!

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  2. My mind a brush fire of memories.. I love that.. great piece.

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  3. Great use of imagery to portray your point.

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  4. Very powerful! A lot of what you've written here brings to mind all kinds of different pills. Sometimes prescriptions are necessary, but many times I wonder ... is it necessity or suppression?

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  5. I love that the speaker is likened to a "dandelion" and a "brush-fire," for both have the potential to spread... fast. Yes, I'm letting the "seedless" bit be camouflage... ;-)

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  6. It's sad the lengths some are willing to go to be skinny. Great job!

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  7. A pill to help transform trying to remold who we really are..but, the heart always knows
    the true inside..enjoyed this Stacy..

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  8. I did enjoy this clever take on the prompt.

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  9. Wow...I felt the heat of this brush fire...

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