I stare at my food.
I play with it.
I take a tiny bite.
They stare at me.
They say mean words.
I don’t want to hear it.
I’m too skinny
But I don’t see it.
It’s my choice.
I guess I’m masochistic.
I want to wither.
I want to be non-existent.
I want to be stunning and cadaverous.
But I’m confused.