scars or open wound.

I taste it real good

as if I'm looking for the entryway

of the open wound that lies on my heart

and I was four

and ashamed.

I would beg my mom to cover me up

and I would beg the world to stop

and I was thirteen

and scared of the looks on other people's eyes.

I'd grab my rolls

the ones on my back

everytime my stomach would growl

that's what she told me

and I was fifteen

and purging.

My hair was thin

my life was a mess

and the ''divorce''

never helped.

and I was seventeen

and traumatized

permanently.

And I'm twenty one

and I miss

the burning throat

the tears

the heavy breathing

and want

but never do.

I don't know if im a coward

or brave

If I'm strong

or just in constant pain

And I hope when I'm twenty two

I'll like the feeling of my stomach full

I will enjoy watching the mirror

and will stop feeling inferior.

pjv.