For another you

There is no room for you here.
Literally.
Disgusting - that is what you feel.
You peer into the mirror daily
and find only hate.
You pin up posters
of skeletal daffodils with hair
and ate leaves for weeks.

Still, you feel like a whale.

So you lead that stubby finger
into your mouth
and you retched till you're
blue in the face,
day in and out.
And for months,
you refused to stop, not
till you're small enough
to please their small
minds, which, by the way,
have once again, grown
smaller.