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Description
When I first met her,
She was fantastic.
Every little bit,
Little, bitty bit
Of that dollhouse woman
With a dollhouse smile.
She reminded me of spring
When robin eggs would break
And you'd find the pieces
Among the blades.
She was the shell.
Broken, blue, and small.
I wanted to carry her to safety
Every time she began
To carefully smuggle a smile.
When we went to dinner
With our friends and family,
They complimented her
On how much weight she lost.
And when the waitress asked her
What she was going to order,
She got up and went to the bathroom.
I loved her tiny eggshell ways.
I even held back her hair
When she was puking up
That one bit of steak
She had for supper
Three nights ago.
I knew she had to fix herself
And she cried and cried.
It was purging without binging,
Not maintaining anything.
She was destroying everything left
Of her broken eggshell.
When she went for help,
She still never ate.
Her face would shake at every smile.
It took all her strength
To even walk.
And when she did,
She walked on eggshells.
Slowly, careful
Walking with each step dainty,
Like a skinny lady should.
When she said she was too fat for me,
I told her I could see her bones.
And she gave me those heavy eyes
Weary with sickness.
I stroked her hair,
What little she had left,
And told her she was beautiful.
When she was in the bathroom
That same night,
I heard her coughing up
Something disgusting.
And I walked inside
To see what was happening.
She finally took what was left
Of her broken eggshell life.
And in the toilet
Was the last of her life.
There she laid,
Broken, blue, and small.
Skinny as a twig
In a bird's nest.
When I called the ambulance
They took her away.
And when the funeral came,
All I wanted
Was for her to eat
Her birthday dinner
That was laying on the kitchen table.

Description
When I first met her,
She was fantastic.
Every little bit,
Little, bitty bit
Of that dollhouse woman
With a dollhouse smile.
She reminded me of spring
When robin eggs would break
And you'd find the pieces
Among the blades.
She was the shell.
Broken, blue, and small.
I wanted to carry her to safety
Every time she began
To carefully smuggle a smile.
When we went to dinner
With our friends and family,
They complimented her
On how much weight she lost.
And when the waitress asked her
What she was going to order,
She got up and went to the bathroom.
I loved her tiny eggshell ways.
I even held back her hair
When she was puking up
That one bit of steak
She had for supper
Three nights ago.
I knew she had to fix herself
And she cried and cried.
It was purging without binging,
Not maintaining anything.
She was destroying everything left
Of her broken eggshell.
When she went for help,
She still never ate.
Her face would shake at every smile.
It took all her strength
To even walk.
And when she did,
She walked on eggshells.
Slowly, careful
Walking with each step dainty,
Like a skinny lady should.
When she said she was too fat for me,
I told her I could see her bones.
And she gave me those heavy eyes
Weary with sickness.
I stroked her hair,
What little she had left,
And told her she was beautiful.
When she was in the bathroom
That same night,
I heard her coughing up
Something disgusting.
And I walked inside
To see what was happening.
She finally took what was left
Of her broken eggshell life.
And in the toilet
Was the last of her life.
There she laid,
Broken, blue, and small.
Skinny as a twig
In a bird's nest.
When I called the ambulance
They took her away.
And when the funeral came,
All I wanted
Was for her to eat
Her birthday dinner
That was laying on the kitchen table.