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Lifeline This Week

Sat Aug 15 @09:00 - 11:30AM
Downtown Mobile Medical Clinic
Sun Aug 16 @05:00 - 08:00AM
Koinos Church
Tue Aug 18 @05:00 - 07:00AM
Mobile Clinic
Sat Aug 22 @09:00 - 11:30AM
Downtown Mobile Medical Clinic

Consumption

Because I cannot eat the barrel of a gun,
I eat food.
Each fry feels like a bullet,
feels like justice being served.

I pass a man on a lawnmower,
catch his eye as I take another bite,
a drive-by shaming.
I see judgment in his eyes,
he can't see the guilt in mine,
just greedy piggy eyes in a bland, fat face.

With every mouthful, I want to purge
excuses, explanation, emotions,
but it's never the right time,
the right place,
the right people.
So I stuff down sadness,
cover it with calories,
smother it with cellulite.
I hide everything with fat –
a body only good for abuse;
feelings; fear; weakness.

I live defined by how I look,
always craving something to fill me,
feel me,
know me beyond appearances.
And I don't want to spend
any more hard time in this prison,
knowing I'm not free to love
or be loved like others.
I am only... useful.
I line my cage with words on paper,
reflective words meant to mirror me -
the real me -
so someone else can see
I'm not just flesh,
just [so much] flesh.

My body bears evidence of feasting;
my character, of famine.
Everyone wants me to step up to the plate,
and all I can do is push it away.
I feel mountainous, lumbering and fumbling
in graceless bewilderment;
confined between too much and not enough,
caught between a locked and a hard heart.
You wouldn't think it to look at me,
but I'm starving
and this bloated body
is just filled with emptiness.

To break out, you need to have
some kind of will,
something tougher than the bars and bolts.
I feel too far from rehabilitation.
How do I escape myself?
I don't.
I commit to the only thing I can;
I commit slow suicide
and pull the trigger with each forkful.
I consume what can't be denied me,
because everything else is,
and become myself consumed.