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
fed by my negativity, selfishness,
anxiety, pride, lies, distrust.
I mourn the
banishment of my baleful blooms.
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.