Starving for God

Twelve years old and always happy,

I am fortified by the religion of control.

Although fat follows me

Like a retarded twin, I will remove

These hips and tempting breasts.

Already I am healed.

I have stopped the blood.

The others are jealous.

They fail to praise

The sculpture I have made.

They do not see

It is their way not mine

That leads to death. '

I am stronger than that.

Hunger is a prayer

For the time when I will have no flesh

With which to sin.

I see perfection

And am almost thin enough

To slip through the door.

I run, I burn, I am blessed.

I will not stop until I touch

The pure ivory bones of my temple.