faceless
obscure
i have no identity
arms like twigs
body of a little girl
mind of an old woman
who am i
am i bulimia?
or cutting?
perhaps i am depression

labels entrap
and become myself
doctors understand
little
they don't know the
truth
life is a carefully
wrought out script and i
read my lines

i am a good girl
good girls don't love
no
spending too much time
trying to be
perfect
what is love to losing a pound?
what is love compared to seeing
your
blood
drip
down
your naked body
it means nothing
it means everything

scared to pick up a new
script
scared to read the same lines
over and over
did you know those lines are written in blood?
no mind no will
no self

who am i?