convenience stores feat. Peyton Kay Davis
from good morning, cruel world by Nico!
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about
a poem about eating disorder stuff, featuring Peyton Kay Davis and her guitar!
lyrics
the first people to see me relapse
are the people at the convenience store
when the trip i’ve told myself is for milk
or eggs, or a cup of coffee for a long night
turns into snickers, cheddar jalapeno cheetos,
slim jims, sour patch kids, and all of my shame
slid across the counter
to be rung up
and placed in a plastic bag.
sometimes
i will say i am holding a party
or that i have a long road ahead of me --
any narrative
that is not just going home
alone.
i avoid the eyes of the other customers in line.
i know what they must be thinking
because it is what i am also thinking.
i know this part of the eating disorder
does not make me seem
like a good fat,
the type you want to feel
sympathy for.
the type of fat
that is always only ever trying
to not be fat.
the type of fat
who is always wittling away
at themselves
with the pocketknife
of insecurity.
that’s what the purging was for.
so people could know
i was trying to atone.
so they might forgive me.
so i might forgive myself.
recently,
i learned that colleges have to replace their plumbing
twice as often as other institutions
because of the stomach acid wearing away the pipes.
i thought about writing my college a check
for all of the damage i might have done
inside the walls
i hated myself in,
and then i wondered
how much would the check
have to be
to pay for all of the damage
i might have done
inside of the body
i hated myself in.
i don’t think i have that much money.
the 7-eleven across the street my junior year
felt easier to reach than my self-worth.
ice cream tastes better
than all of my ugly.
candy bars cost less
than therapy.
i am learning, however,
that therapy costs less
than fixing the damage
inside the walls of my body.
i have not binged, or purged
for a few months now.
there are no easy fixes
in my kitchen pantry.
only that which must be
assembled with my bare hands.
i coat them with flour
to hold on to the slippery resolve
of a better future i am not sure of --
one that will taste better
and make me feel better
at the same time.
i am learning to tell good eggs from bad ones
and decide which ones i want to mix with.
now when i say i am holding a party
even when i am alone
i mean it.
now when i say i have a long road ahead of me
that is even more true.
every moment is one in which i slow down
chew
decide whether i want to swallow
knowing that what i take into my body
is no longer a decision
i can so easily undo.
are the people at the convenience store
when the trip i’ve told myself is for milk
or eggs, or a cup of coffee for a long night
turns into snickers, cheddar jalapeno cheetos,
slim jims, sour patch kids, and all of my shame
slid across the counter
to be rung up
and placed in a plastic bag.
sometimes
i will say i am holding a party
or that i have a long road ahead of me --
any narrative
that is not just going home
alone.
i avoid the eyes of the other customers in line.
i know what they must be thinking
because it is what i am also thinking.
i know this part of the eating disorder
does not make me seem
like a good fat,
the type you want to feel
sympathy for.
the type of fat
that is always only ever trying
to not be fat.
the type of fat
who is always wittling away
at themselves
with the pocketknife
of insecurity.
that’s what the purging was for.
so people could know
i was trying to atone.
so they might forgive me.
so i might forgive myself.
recently,
i learned that colleges have to replace their plumbing
twice as often as other institutions
because of the stomach acid wearing away the pipes.
i thought about writing my college a check
for all of the damage i might have done
inside the walls
i hated myself in,
and then i wondered
how much would the check
have to be
to pay for all of the damage
i might have done
inside of the body
i hated myself in.
i don’t think i have that much money.
the 7-eleven across the street my junior year
felt easier to reach than my self-worth.
ice cream tastes better
than all of my ugly.
candy bars cost less
than therapy.
i am learning, however,
that therapy costs less
than fixing the damage
inside the walls of my body.
i have not binged, or purged
for a few months now.
there are no easy fixes
in my kitchen pantry.
only that which must be
assembled with my bare hands.
i coat them with flour
to hold on to the slippery resolve
of a better future i am not sure of --
one that will taste better
and make me feel better
at the same time.
i am learning to tell good eggs from bad ones
and decide which ones i want to mix with.
now when i say i am holding a party
even when i am alone
i mean it.
now when i say i have a long road ahead of me
that is even more true.
every moment is one in which i slow down
chew
decide whether i want to swallow
knowing that what i take into my body
is no longer a decision
i can so easily undo.
credits
from good morning, cruel world,
released August 1, 2016
Poem -- Nico Wilkinson
Guitar -- Peyton Kay Davis
Poem -- Nico Wilkinson
Guitar -- Peyton Kay Davis
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Nico! Colorado Springs, Colorado
i'm a genderqueer spoken word poet that lives in colorado springs. i write identity stuff, body stuff, brain stuff. i write about the things that make me get out of bed in the morning.
discography
-
Aug 2016
contact / help
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