She never wanted to be pretty.
She never wanted to be thin.
She refused to believe that those were the only important things about life,
that the chemicals didn’t count
unless the final scent was sweet.
She was the outcast in a world
infatuated with beauty.
But she could not hide for long,
and society soon made her mind a prisoner.
That was why she saw her bones as gold.
It was why she knew that Oreos were 50 calories,
apples were 60, bagels 230,
and 1,000 a day was far too many.
It was why her body was a competition,
and the smaller the thigh,
the greater the trophy.
But this was not the society you know.
This world of voices echoed
within the confines of her skull,
an agonizing sight
more cluttered than if you tried
to map all of the stars on an index card.
And she tried to do so.
With every lost pound, she gained handfuls of stardust
and if she sprinkled them so delicately,
they would fall into place,
and the voices would stop.
Control, at last.
Control which led to bones,
which led to gaps, dizziness,
thoughts more dark than a cloudy night sky.
It was never beauty that slithered through her veins,
infiltrating her thoughts.
Society didn’t once force her into paralysis.
It was herself,
the lack of peace within her mind.
You tried to change humankind,
take the focus off of looks,
but you failed to see that
the only source of joy some people got
was the act of withering away.
Some great savior you are.
She rejected the world,
the “you’re worthy”s that were thrown at her,
the constant reminders that she was loved.
Your inspiration would never liberate her.
In her obituary, you had the audacity to call her beautiful,
and I swear,
I can hear her ugly cries from below
You swore your words could save her.
Error. Try Again.