Wore a waist trainer,
relapsed again,
thinking a device could help me 
shed unwanted skin,
buckled underneath the pressure 
of this anxious whim, 
don't need to be who they wish, 
accept me as I am; 

Drank a pill,
relapsed again,
chemicals can save,
keep me in a productive stupor, 
a muted daze,
lull me into believing 
this is the only way,
to prevent the flood 
of feelings I can't navigate;

Drank a bottle,
relapsed again,
sweet, soft, red-wine,
alone, I felt the familiar, 
steady, wished for decline,
lost in my sadness, 
in my thoughts confined,
deepest fears confirmed, 
hopeful peace denied;

I write these words,
slow recovery, gotta find a way,
to believe in the something
I wake up for each day,
a higher power, 
guide me out of the gray,
help me remember 
what I feel when I self-betray,
my battlefield a war-zone in disarray,
save the weary, tired pieces 
of what's left of me.

Emily C. Poésie © 2018