Hunger by Natasha Bredle (14, Ohio)

It began at the base of your navel, 
a lonesome twinge, a subtle ache for something more.
But you refused to grant it nourishment, 
to feed the monster you dubbed 
a hindrance against yourself. So call it 
pathetic, call it unstable, turn your back 
and do your best to forget. ​

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From within, it would only grow 
to consume your abdomen with an absence,
make you gasp, clutch, and leek tears 
behind your veil of fake smiles, forced laughs.
But the sorrow would source a sense of control.
To bare the beast, you learned to tame it 
with sacrifices—throw in friendship, 
throw in performance, throw in bits and pieces
of your happiness, once broken, convinced you
that perhaps they were never needed. 
Because once you became one with the pain,
you indulged in it. 
You lived, breathed, and moved with it. 
You forgot it was pain until it faded to a numb
sensation beneath the rolling waves of feelings
that ricocheted off your fabricated armor. You
were deaf even to the beat of your own heart,
which thrummed at a devastatingly 
slowing 
pace. 
You were blind even to your dimming reflection,
your sunken cheeks and your gradually 
thinning 
shadow. 
Yes, it would take someone else’s ears and eyes
to recognize your silenced 
cry for help.