Dying To Be Thin

Feet together, thighs apart
That's the dream I have at heart.
Counting ribs, and counting stars,
Can I get rid of all my scars?
Collar bones popping,
And skinny girl shopping.
Skinny is pretty, that is what I've been raised to know.
Pretty is skinny, and that is all I care to show.
Society has tricked me,
By now, its far too late to flee.
I'm being shaped to be perfect still,
But it hurts and I want to take 'the pill'.
I look at my arm all covered in red,
I close my eyes waiting to be dead.
But, my dad finds my lying on the floor,
For hours, he was pounding on the door.
I'm lying in a bed,
The doctors name is Ted...
He says I'm far to skinny for my age,
He says "I know what it's like, Sage."
I weigh eighty-five, and he's taken a poll.
Millions die for this, but I made my goal.
That doesn't matter anymore, my skin is cold,
And by far, society made me into the perfect mold.
As I was dying,
My dad sat there crying.
When I was laying there dead,
The doctor already started prescribing meds.
My dad sat there speechless, like he wasn't there...
And finally then, I realized how much he actually cared.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem