She Waits

A near-skeleton waits in my closet.

She lurks among my skinny jeans.

She peers between my sweater dresses.

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She watches from behind my high-waisted floral skirt.

Her pale skin hugs her bones in a lying embrace.

Her blue eyes don’t shine—

they’re dulled ice, dirty, detached, floating

and yet she is beautiful.

Her voice whispers taffy words,

croons chocolate truffle reminders.

She asks me to see

how flat the bowl of her belly.

She asks me to look

how sharp the cuts of her collarbones.

She asks me to covet

how wide the slice between her thighs.

I want to close my eyes, manage to squint

shudder, ache.

A ghost waits in my mirror.

She hovers behind my reflection.

She clings to my pixie short hair.

She hangs from my elbows.

Her fuzzy form is slender, a waif,

a lying willow branch.

She is weightless, feather-soft,

a cupcake delicately frosted

and yet she is beautiful.

Her voice echoed gum drop words

popping silently in my ear.

She asks me to see

how hard the caramels of her freckles shoulders.

She asks me to look

how smooth the chopsticks of her legs.

She asks me to covet

how taut the count of her ribs.

I want to turn away, manage to crumble,

shudder, yearn.

A woman waits inside me.

She smiles, she shines, she sits.

She lends strength to my hands

clenched around dumbbells.

She lends strength to my mind

as I lift fork to mouth.

She smiles, she shines, she sits.

She waits for me to step

away from those haunting specters

and their lying cage of branches.

She is a fortress of patience.

I want to run to her, manage to

stumble, step.


About The Author:

Aurora is a 28-year-old English major diagnosed with anorexia and generalized anxiety disorder. She has told few in her life about her struggles and wants that to change. Finally opening up about her disorders is her brave; she hopes to help as many as she can with her story.