My friend told me she is hungry. 

That her stomach is clawing in on itself.

That she feels like vomiting whenever she enters the lunch room. 

That her stomach is grumbling like her 

Words that stutter when she tells me

“Oh I do… I do not want to eat lunch today.”

The beans on her full plate are shaped like my eyes

When I have to explain to her that

"You need to eat to survive

That you need to listen to me. 

That I’ve went through this too, 

And that you need help.”

But she doesn’t listen. 

My friend thinks she is ugly— that she is Medusa herself.

She thinks that if the lunch ladies look at her,

She will turn them into stone. 

She believes that the only way to fix that ugliness is to starve,

To skip lunch, breakfast and dinner, 

And do it all again tomorrow.

That she needs to dine on her own spit like it’s a 

Five course meal with wine on the side

Instead of eating lunch.

Her hunger breathes hungry.

Until it sees that nothing is worthy enough to satisfy the emptiness.

But my friend told me that she was still hungry. 

And I don’t know what to do.