Will I vanish with recovery?
Will I disappear,
a hollow woman
devoid of defect?
Will I disintegrate ,
a ghost a binges past?
Will Blubber Bloated Girl
become a bubble
and pop from existence?
As I move towards freedom,
I tremble ,my fear a
gaping pit of unknown
in my gut.
Disease corrupts my existence,
but I feel disease.
Disease is me.
Blubber Bloated Girl.
since age 7,
disease rotted my garden.
petals of steel grew on
razor flowers
fed by my negativity, selfishness,
anxiety, pride, lies, distrust.
I mourn the
banishment of my baleful blooms.
For decades,
I assented to destruction;
I said yes to distress;
I embraced self immolation and injury,
my skin a map of the diseased growth.
I stubbornly, selfishly, shamefully
hide in the prison of blubber bloated girl's garden,
rooted in my steadfast, inalienable self hatred.
Health of mind, body and soul is
anathema to disease, to me, for
I am the sunflower that is allergic to the sun.
I am the rose so gnarled and twisted that
its thorns stab its blooms.
I need a Gardener to save me from myself - 
a Gardener to prune,
heal and guide me toward the light.
I need a Gardener to reestablish
my roots in the nourishment of love and trust.
I need a Gardener to
tame the disease and
transmogrify my garden.
I need a Gardener to reap my defects
and sow an recovery meadow in my heart.

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