anorexia is not a dirty little secret.

it is a mental health disorder we need to talk about for everyone suffering from it to find the inner strength and love to recover.

so here is the personal story of a strong and beautiful woman named Anyaa, and her journey through anorexia and depression.


poem and illustration by Anyaa

poem and illustration by Anyaa


on her knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

upon a whisper so cold and honest,

gluttony grips,

the stand a messenger, the numbers not modest

feel the tickle, the spicy burn, a frightening trip.


on her knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

silent nights and quiet prayer,

don’t start that feeling once again,

upon the water she throws a glare,

the acid burn grows stronger from back then.


on her knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

through white she counts the soldiers of disease, 

the same on each side,

no longer shy nor quietly tease,

stripped of courage of thought and pride.


on her knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

to ignorant eyes a constant beat, 

but soon will fade like most things do,

her eyes of sorrow and skin of wheat,

the scars of battle turn red and blue.


on her knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

the time left was never unknown,

a blanket of love and no reason to cry,

fears and fumbles, were all in her soul.

the whispers and secrets were all but a lie.


on my knuckles lie sleeping wounds,

they no longer cry pathetic anxiety,

whisper and taunt persistent and desperate,

i’m stronger now they can’t tamper with me.

although voices still try to taunt, to convince, to berate.


i close my eyes and cry a soft prayer,

a silent love song, a ballad for myself,

love can’t be given if it isn’t there,

when tears fogged judgment and all i could tell,

on my knuckles lay sleeping wounds.