The Lie
The day the big, round lie broke,
I knew I had seven years eating disorder coming to me.
It was my fault, putting the lie on such a weak nail,
expecting it to stay up. All the triangles
and split glass on the floor reflected back to me
different versions of itself. Too fat.
Too dumb. Ugly. For seven years
I lived at all of them at once, using
the toilet water as a lie, using the lie
above my mother's dresser. I had
a hand lie in my bedroom. I broke my teeth
on those years, shards of them coming off like they
were lies. My mouth
hurts still because of the lie
and the seven years. My fault.
Weak nail. Too fat.
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