Hunger in the body

The hunger comes to me between the hours of twelve and thirteen, I feel it travelling through my muscles that trembles because of the lack of strength to keep this body standing that is hollow and in an echo of bones that vibrate. The hunger, I have it from when I saw you smile and I had this guilt of swallowing what I had in my mouth. And is that I wanted, needed you, for which I prefered the taste of tea without sugar than losing you. 

When you talk to me about eating out I explain to you that I have this stomach ache that haunts me since I was six years old, where I measured my body with the one of my neighbour, who had a slimmer hip and without baby fat. So I am good playing with the straw and leaving you my piece because I wouldn't be comfortable with you watching me eat while I feel the guilt for the fat on my hips. 

And I'm dying of the hunger that I have, my stomach is growling and my cat is bringing me a plate of food because of my pain. But I'm unable to accepting love when there is the image with the words that a beautiful body is the one isn't seen and gets blown away with the wind. Thus I prefer to play with the salad and say I ate earlier than forcing food down my throat that feels like venom to this body that is decaying in the torture that is to eat.

The hunger is hurting me, leaving me thirsty as water has started wounding me and I would like to eat, make jokes about preferring food than you but the clothes look good on me when the ribs are marked and there are sacrifices to be made.

TA.