The Body Remembers
I do not speak
but the body does.
It tells you things
I’d rather keep quiet—
the tremble of spoon to bowl,
the hollow behind my eyes.
They say I am disappearing.
They say it like it’s a tragedy,
like they didn’t watch
while I unravelled.
I wake with my mouth full
of numbers.
Calories.
Failures.
Tiny violences I invite
just to feel control.
No one sees
the mirror I carry
inside me.
No one sees
what I trade
for silence.
My sister hums
in the next room—
alive, loud, real.
I try to remember
how that felt.
To want.
To need.
But I’ve trained the wanting
out of me.
Worn it down
to a hunger
I never feed.
Some days,
I’m just a shadow
pulling on sleeves
that no longer fit.
But once—
once,
I was made of music
and not bone.
Keep My Words Alive
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
