girls

Every night at the gym
I watch girls around me
In sports bras and pajama pants
And swinging pony tails
Freaking out on elliptical runners
And treadmills, and bikes,
And stair-steppers and weights,
Begging to be skinny.
Hidden tears in their eyes,
And frustration on their
Furrowed, sweaty brows,
As they recall everything
They’ve eaten that day.
I imagine many of them like me
And my friends
Starving their bodies,
Shoving desperate fingers down their throats,
Filling their toilets with a sense
Of pride,
Popping laxative after laxative,
Counting calorie after calorie,
Carb after carb…
Fat gram after fat gram …
Weighing themselves on sinister scales
“That’s it. Tomorrow I only eat
Five frosted miniwheats.”
It satisfies me when I beat most of them
In the “whose skinner” contest;
It motivates me to freak out
On my machine
A little longer
To maintain my position
In the horrific hierarchy.
However, there is a girl I see
Every night
Whom I remain beneath.
Her pale flesh clings to
Tiny bones
That protrude fiercely
Sharp and proud.
She runs on the elliptical runner
In front of me,
Pedaling as fast as she can
Sweating out the only thing
She feeds herself.
She stops every half hour
To take her pulse
So both of us can be sure
She’s still alive.
I wonder how she motivates herself
To go that fast, for that long
Then I realize she is staring at
A pretty woman on T.V.
I know what is going through her mind,
“I want to look like her…
Faster! Harder! A little bit longer!
You should look like her.”
(Although she is already half her size)
How do I know, you ask?
It’s the same thing going through
My mind
As I look at her.