Expel

She became accustomed to the feeling
of cold ceramic tiles under her knees
Hunched over (as if in prayer)
she let two fingers enter parched lips

The faucet was left running
-god forbid her mother should hear 
her exorcize the filth from within
before it could fester.
A strange satisfaction washed over her
at the sight of masticated mac and cheese
that mingled with the Cheerios she had for breakfast

She could tell you when it started,
The boy from second period used to
ask her if she was in her third trimester
always with that same smug grin and curled lip

Then it became a matter of convincing herself 
that her mother’s packed lunches
would still go to good use
(Perhaps she could take solace in knowing
the raccoons that roamed the dumpster behind the school
would have something to look forward to)

At dinner, pieces of chicken would disappear into napkins
as she sang praises for her mother’s cooking
The rest would find its way out of her 
One way or another

It still mystified her from time to time
how the girls made it look so lovely on TV
She didn’t feel lovely,
not when she awoke to clumps of her own hair on the pillow,
not when the boy from second period
ran his tongue over her corroded teeth 

At least these days he looked at her
like she was something he could tolerate 

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