Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

I

Why must this

feeling:

of fullness,

bloat,

  must I feel;

So much

hatred

and fear.

Scarcity

is not

relevant.

  Scaredness,

however, is my

stuffing.

II

Perception of less

because of presence

of more.

I hate

that you could

see me this way.

III

  I hate

to fear

  seeing myself

this way.

IV

They hate you

for existing – if bigger

than they

then smaller

is you.

V

  I hate myself

too then.

            I just want

            to fit in your

            world.

VI

  I’m afraid

  of filling my mouth-

  if I cant stop

  then I’ll be disgusting.

I wonder, to whom?

VII

I’m enslaved then,

to feel such a thing.

A life regretant:

  so disappointed,

  so disgusted.

VIII

  Regardless of sustenance,

  I hate myself for it.

IX

Too big or too small;

never enough

or always a glutton.

X

Consumption is my

enemy, but

I need her,

to breathe

and think another day,

to consider my hate

to consume so.

XI

  I starve

in my mind.

  When nourishing

my body.

Is the inverse much preferable?

I feel so, yet

I know I’m wrong.

XII

  The envy:

the unadulterated want

to not second-guess myself

  when I feed.

XIII

What world is there then?

One where a delicious meal

 fills me

not

  with disgust?

XIIII

  I wish

I were brave

enough

  to love myself,

enough

  to nourish myself.

XV

But I’m not.