the things inside of us feel like poison

This poem is about the struggles of an eating disorder

I drank  in the salt of the sea till my stomach was sick, 

made of the same silk that dripped down the curves of my new skin years ago

and cleansed my soul from the priest's hand.

Why is it that demons fear water? 

And the sin that pours from untouched flesh is suddenly pure? 

A drop of the blood of the earth, 

seeping from the thickest veins. 

A dark dark blood.

Resilient. 

It sprung forth from the wounds of the nymphs of the deep

From my gut. 

Gushing, 

returning to its mother. 

Convulsing.

Purify me.

I’ve always chosen the salt in my throat 

over the salt in my eyes, 

And still,

still over the salt in my brain

that seeps through my plump veins 

and so called cleansed my soul.

Betraying me with redemption 

from whom I feared I would become.

Now it’s staining,

a reflection mocking in the pure white porcelain 

of the bowl beneath.

-sometimes the things inside of us feel like poison.