Tagged in Facebook photo’s. She expected comments.
Warm anticipation filled her, brought hope
of party memories. Cool. Fashion forward.
Blinged. Like an Oscars of their own.
They had papped each other. Bent into celeb poses,
taken pouting selfies. Phones fireflies, flickering.
Next day comments boxes shrieked.
'Too fat for that’ - 'Dress like a tent.’
'Fat pads not boobs,’ made her cry. How unsexy she was.
Gross. A lard-assed lump too ugly for words.
Stripped, she scrutinised her perfect self.
Eyes blurred by hatred. Blind to normality, adolescent bloom.
Her appetite recoiled. Withdrew into a tight kernel.
Closed her throat .Dinner was refused then and slow withdrawal
from fridge raiding. She became busy at meal times,
Found convenient diversions. Ran to burn calories,
danced in frenzied sadness.
Mum heard retching behind the door. Smelt toothpasty vomit
on her breath. Worry brought heads crashing. Hard words
bruised both sides. She smiled as weight tumbled.
Loved hip-bones like clam shells, A hollow sided face.
A clinic was found as she lay. Wrapped in Mums questions.
'Why did they say that? Why did you listen?’
'But Mum,’ her whisper replied, - 'These are my friends.’