When I was Anorexic.

[Sreenan]

When I was Anorexic I would say 'This ain't for boys.'
Thudding heart beats and aching ankles; I was dying
bit by bit.

When I was Anorexic I was lonely and content
With fuzzy cheeks and a swollen throat; it's no mistake
I'm near my end.

When I was Anorexic other men would smirk and girls
Would stare; in their eyes I saw they cared but none
Would dare to help.

When I was Anorexic I'd spend all hours by myself,
In a dirty room with knifes at ready
Hidden in all my shelves.

When I was Anorexic I'd miss her more than ever,
Summoned myself to sickness forever or until when?

Because I was Anorexic my jeans would never fit,
The whispers I heard from miles away made me
Sick of this.

When I was Anorexic, I think I found myself,
November 2010 was the start of my new life.
When I first got better I counted my blessings I survived.
I made myself forget her and grew a stronger drive in life.

Thank you Anorexia; I'm stronger than before,
I'll never see you again but thanks to you I will do more.


Super personal poem, and the first I did after years of quitting writing. Since this poem I've carried on writing more and finished a novella since! This will be included in it at the end too...more so just so I have it copyrighted and to give the reader a little insight! What do you think?

[Delta40]

I think the value you place upon anything super personal vs poem structure is going to be a challenge. So don't take the critique personally ok because this has a good foundation but I don't think the repetition of anoxrexia at the beginning of each stanza works. What is strong is the gender aspect, sense of isolation and defensiveness that is apparent and the subsequent recovery and new found strength which you have anxorexia to thank for. You can project this through a rework and edit to give your experience the justice it deserves. Personally, I would dig into the world of metaphors more to achieve this as you have begun to with lines such as:

In a dirty room with knifes at ready
Hidden in all my shelves

[Sreenan]

Thank you, very good feedback. Definitely should do a rework, that is the first poem that I did of many years and it helped a lot of my friends with ED's (or say they say,) so I carried on writing and here I am where I am today! Means a lot to me! I'll have a good work on it again one day. Will self-publish this one with the novella and then I'll do a rework as you suggested and I'll include that in a novella or novel about said experiences (still working on the storyboard for that, got to make it extra special.)

[Delta40]

One of the things I have found through writing poetry is that my experiences as they have happened do not have to be written as such to get the effect I am looking for. An example of this is:

Insidious Incest

Here it is, dwelling in a small corner
where nobody is willing to look.
Victimization on a Saturday night
Disco dances of self-reproach.
Please, anyone care to remind me?
What am I doing in this part of the mind again?
Crocheting strands of flawed logic.
A control freak scoffing down water crackers.
Boxes and boxes.
Twelve to a shelf.
Mind you open this side up.
Hey little girl, wanna see what comes out this end?
Now that I think about wombles, you lied to me.
Holes in the system of family love.
Rapture, fear, shame.

I sing to Abba as if it will make you happy.
Flashbacks through your kodak instamatic.
Yellowed snapshots, intrusive memories, desperate longing.
Sceptic tanks overflow whenever I let go.
Chequered board, checked love.
King takes pawn in the middle of the night.
I miss the smell of your aftershave.
No I don't.
Disgusting and repulsive child.
Are you still alone in that hall on your knees?
Stay buried within me and keep quiet
while I reconcile the facts.
I actually enjoyed it sometimes.
Yes, you heard me right.
Now the hands of my emotional deprivation
need chopping off just in case!
I can't love you. Yes, I do.

Is this it then? Are you serious?
My child voice is still on mute.
Smother all innocent life from here on in.
Draw the truth with crayons for God's sake!
Pour your heart out like kibble
into dog bowls of sexual dysfunction.
Blinded by the dimly lit hospital room,
my babies fall a short distance from our tree
to become festering clusters of violations.
We cram battered trunks of family secrets
underneath the next bed.
Nobody needs to know I was here.
Or that you were.

The use of metaphors can be a very powerful way of stating that which otherwise could not be said while still leaving the reader in no doubt whatsoever about the depth of what they are reading

[hillwalker]

The problem with 'super personal' poems is that they leave no room for manoeuvre for the uninvolved reader. One assumes you wrote this to share your experiences but you need to make it less personal and more universal without being simplistic for it to make its point.

The approach you have taken here is very much 'listen to me - I used to be anorexic' so immediately the reader's shields are up. There's a danger that if we find the poem less than satisfying then we're seen to be criticising the writer and diminishing the severity of their experience.

In my opinion this would work better if you took out anything that refers to the 'I' and the suggestion that the condition was in the distant past and is no longer relevant. Keep it immediate.
Also some of the more mundane details tend to dilute the message. Trimming it along these lines might be more effective:

'This ain't for boys.'
Thudding heartbeats and aching ankles; dying
bit by bit.

Lonely yet content
With fuzzy cheeks and a swollen throat; it's no mistake
the end is near.

Other men smirk and girls
stare; in their eyes they care but none
dare help.

Hours in a dirty room
with knives at the ready.

Missing her more than ever,
Whispers from miles away
summoning sickness
forever or until when?

November 2010
blessings counted
survival
forgetting her and growing a stronger drive in life.

I'd hesitate to suggest that my version is an improvement - I'm merely presenting one viewpoint on how to proceed.

H

[Jerrybaldy]

I agree that the repitition is too much and that the personalisation makes it impossible to critique without thoughts of your condition. Therefore as a personal account it is impossible to be objective about the poetry. It is undeniably real of course, which gives it points above lots of the imagined. Oh I dont ****ing know. On a personal basis, well done you for overcoming it and overcoming the other person. That is a triumph more important than clever as s words.

[Sreenan]

Thank you all for the advice. I've worked more on my novella than anything else for such a long time. I need some 'schooling' on poetry. Appreciate it all, thanks again! I'll post some of the novella in the short story section soon once I've got it all online!

[twist]

That must have been very difficult to write and share. I really liked it and it brought back memories of a boy with anorexia I knew during one admission. He made me a birthday card out of a napkin! I have been diagnosed with bipolar but am not convinced as the hallucinations have been too real!