The Bulimic Word

By Vaishnavi Ojha

The plate looks delicious, 

Delicious as a bite of the chocolate I always thought I hated. 

Shinning like a silver mirror, 

With oil and vinegar, it seems like it's the last thing to be wasted. 

As it sits on the plate, 

Almost staring back at me with rage,

I could hear it utter the word,

"Regret."

Makes perfect sense to me,

But you might be upset.

I think for a little while,

Those moments I stare at the food,

Without thinking about my last meal;

Without remembering my own reflection;

Without recalling the despair, I feel.

A while can be a long time,

A long time to notice an empty plate;

A long time to turn the water tap to its highest rate;

A long time to get on your knees and remember your mistake.

But all this for what, you might ask?

Oh, it's to stare down at the weighing scale, 

And look at your own silhouette;

Only to repeat the word, 

"Regret."

By Vaishnavi Ojha