it’s been
quite a while
since i jammed
my fingers
down my throat,
nails scraping soft
tender tissues,
ripping them
into ragged
ribbons of

agony and sweet relief.

i really
don’t know
why i did that
all those years.
i cannot even
find the impulse,
the compulsion
to expiate myself
and purge me
of that void.

but now
i think
we live
in times
of cultural
bulimia

and we
binge on self
purge in guilt
bathe in shame
call it freedom.

someday
we’ll live
a life of
being not doing
or consuming

and our throats
will heal
and our song
will be sung

pure
and
unashamed.