Sixteen

I was sixteen

making love to boys

because

they called me

Skinny

I loved the way

their hands

rubbed over the valleys

between my ribs

and grazed the

mountain peaks

my hipbones became.

I loved how wanted I felt,

how desired I felt,

how loved I thought I was

No one was going to love me

with those extra twenty pounds

and I starved and starved

until forty pounds were gone.

I was on top of the world

thin

perfect

lovely

beautiful

until the day

My hair fell out

in clumps when I would run my fingers through

my fingernails turning every shade of blue

I knew I was sick

but I didn't know how to

Stop

I didn’t want to

Stop being thin

but that meant I was sickly

I didn’t want to stop,

But I knew I had to stop

And those boys,

the ones who would call on me

called less

The boys

those boys

suddenly had other things to do

I found myself

cold, lonely

sad, wallowing in my thinness

alone.

I thought I was beautiful,

graceful, perfect

Shivering in 90 degree weather,

smoking cigarettes to keep me full.

And now

the boys,

those boys,

that boy...

doesn't love me

anymore.