It’s a battle every day, from the moment my feet hit the floor.
It’s not a habit I am proud of, but a sickness I can’t ignore.
I know I am my hardest critic, and my worst enemy.
You are taking me over piece by piece, and this will be the death of me.
I should know it’s not important, just a number on a scale.
It’s me versus you now, and I hope someday to prevail.
I’m starving my body and also my soul.
I see you sickness, and watch you laugh, because you are in control.
I cannot face you alone; I know I’m not that strong.
You’ve been hiding around corners, waiting to appear all along.
You are now taking me over completely, as I knew you would do.
Maybe someday there will be hope for me, and then I can control you.
I wrote this poem a long time ago, but wanted to share it because I had entered it into a contest. Please enjoy or feel free to leave feedback.