HABIT

My legs buckle beneath me
Forcing me to descend to my knees
I rest my elbows on each side of the
White plasctic seat,
I begin to feel my arms shake
I'm losing control.

I slide that innocent finger of mine
Down my reflexive throat
And feel that all-too-familiar feeling.
I've been here before-
Actually it wasn't that long ago.

I remove many excuses from my body,
Allowing me to feel right,
Allowing me to feel okay again.

I use my quivering hands to propel
Myself up off of my enemy
It's hard to stand.
Too much stress has been placed upon
My body and it's making my legs
Unsteady and frail.

I use a clean wascloth to wipe away the proof,
The proof of my weakness.
I dab my wet eyes and erase the
Running, screaming mascara
Attempting to
Return to that world of judgement,
That world of ridicule,
The world that I've been
Bowing down to all this time.