Here’s another poem I wrote along the lines of the one I wrote yesterday. It’s a little depressing, but then, eating disorders are depressing. No point in glossing over that or pretending my past didn’t happen. As depressing as parts of it have been, it’s also made me who I am, and for that I’m grateful. Which I guess is all to say, don’t feel sorry for me — Ed may have been my first love (now Ex-love), but he certainly won’t be my last.
My pen hovers aimlessly over the page
College ruled, like we used in
high school, a time for first loves and
The empty page stares back at me,
“Don’t you have anything worth writing about?”
laughter, glasses clinking, joints passed around
at parties I missed.
More important things to do
Didn’t like those people anyway
with their Abercrombie jeans and Victoria Secret panties
ripped off in the heat of the moment
or at least that’s how it is on TV.
I wouldn’t know,
I missed that too.
Too much going on, Too much to take care of, Too much