Empty and white; slowly stripping
down to collarbones and shiny shoes
that look nice with her thinning silver gown.
Grown to adore those cold feet
and sleek ridges that adorn the backs
of a hundred pale faces on paper.
Scarred and hushed; lips quivering
like the soul in her teeth, biting
nimble nothings and keeping it
within her tongue.
A reality check on the weight scale
and some snide remarks by those lovely, cruel
teens who have it all together.
All this right when her appetite was growing.
And now: empty and white and scarred and hushed
and staring at herself in a mirror, wondering
how a thousand hopscotch games
turned into jumping jacks
turned into skinny scratches
turned into silent surrender