*Part of the Anxiety group series of poems
*Boy's perspective (if you read 1st one you'll know him ;)
A n o r e x i a
The word that makes me cringe.
At how it made me, the person I am.
And, yes I am a boy.
I am the boy, everyone thought that,
was healthy and eating, normally.
But no, I am the boy, with the demons,
consuming my fear every day like
breakfast,lunch and dinner.
I found myself the boy who was broken,
into small shards of sharp glass.
It cut my hands, as I tried to pick it up.
And I did this till she came along.
The girl with anxiety, who's parents
and therapist sent to the group.
Hates the crowds, because she is
afraid she'll drown in them.
She was different. I like different.
I held out my hand for her, my scarred,thin and boney hand out
She smiled gratefully and took my hand, just like that.
The anxiety group doesn't feel so bad anymore..