Kelsey Amell
What the fuck does plentiful mean?
There is only mad hunger.
Shit, I forget once I approach
a lack of stomach pains, no appetite.
Mind control, I haven't forgotten about that evil voice.
"You Can't eat this"
"You don't need that"
"What the hell are you doing to yourself....your shape?"
"You're not hungry"

Relate. Nobody relates!
Instead, accusations of drug abuse
are attacking me at every angle
as wild, barbarian spears.
I'm running for my life, dodging; they still find me-
filling me with their poisons.
I'm sedated like a stricken fly-
lying there, twitching and writhing, unable to move.
Severe headaches, loss of energy.
My pillow- my best friend.
My best friend- pissed off.
I can't return phone calls, one more beer will surely kill me.
Rolling my weak ankles countless times a day.
Athleticism has morphed into a sick, unreliable, brittle frame.

Stress. Stress. Stress.
Where the fuck is all this stray hair coming from?
Constricting around my knuckles and gracefully flowing down the drain.
What the fuck? When was my last menstrual period?
Mom, am I really that pale!?
My friends quit calling for good.

My body, separated from my mind.
Prosperity turns to poverty.
Strength to weakness.
Rebellion to regret.

My body, crouched down in fear, obeying.
These chains are cutting through what's left.
Is there anything truly left?