Hungry Pantoum  

by trogers5


Poetry


skeleton
photo creds: pixabay

Mariela Flores ’23  

 ***TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDER***

I empty myself out.  

While the world concaves around me I center myself. 

Scrapping what is left of me until I feel nothing–– 

moving inside of me.  

 

I center myself in the feeling,  

of sharp bones that rip through my skin.  

Nothing moves inside of me, 

only the echoes of a rumble I cannot hold.  

 

Sharp bones rip through my dull skin,  

I wear them like trophies proving I was good. 

I want to muffle the echoing rumbles,  

but my hands tire from digging deep inside myself.  

 

I want them to see that I was good.  

Their praise is enough for me to stay–– 

My hands are tired from digging inside myself again.  

My skin is cracking from the force of myself again.  

 

Their praise enough for me to stay this way.  

Even with nothing moving inside of me.  

Even with cracked skin itching red from my choices.  

I empty myself out again, and again.  

 

I empty myself out.  

While the world concaves around me I center myself. 

Scrapping what is left of me until I feel nothing–– 

moving inside of me.  

 

I center myself in the feeling,  

of sharp bones that rip through my skin.  

Nothing moves inside of me, 

only the echoes of a rumble I cannot hold.  

 

Sharp bones rip through my dull skin,  

I wear them like trophies proving I was good. 

I want to muffle the echoing rumbles,  

but my hands tire from digging deep inside myself.  

 

I want them to see that I was good.  

Their praise is enough for me to stay–– 

My hands are tired from digging inside myself again.  

My skin is cracking from the force of myself again.  

 

Their praise is enough for me to stay this way.  

Even with nothing moving inside of me.  

Even with cracked skin itching red by my choices.  

I empty myself out again, and again.