125 Pounds. For the past 7 years words have been the heaviest
things I’ve carried. Are you losing more weight? Are you not eating? I don’t want to hurt you man. As if your intentions are to make me self-conscious. And for a while I actually believed something
was wrong with me. My collar bones are exposed. My arms look frail. My thighs can’t touch. I can count my ribs. I can even see my spine. And I can see my heart beat. “You need to put more weight on man.” “Oh, whats up bones?” How can a person get out of a situation they
didn’t even create? But sure, I’ll eat. I’ll eat the words that you say, allowing
my metabolism to convert them into life. 125 Pounds.