Confessional 2

In the college counseling center

my fingers fidget in my lap

watching the waiting room

floor tiles

preparing what to say.

The blond-bobbed woman

gives me the

saddest eyes

as I confess I’m bulimic

ask her for help.

I’m relieved the hard part is over,

but she bites her lined lips

tells me she’s

glad I’m ready to get better but

sososorry there’s

nothing she can do.

No help here.

My hope,

a bloodied mass on the floor

I drag from her office.

My hope

so tired of struggling

of fighting

of being humiliated,

but   still,

my     hope     breathes.