Eating the World, Not Myself
© Aurélia Gervasoni
Trigger warning: This collection of poems explores themes of eating disorders, body image, and mental health struggles. It contains descriptions that may be distressing or triggering for some readers. Please read with care.
Through this series of poems, Aurélia Gervasoni aims to retrace her ongoing battle with anorexia nervosa. She developed this illness at the age of 7, and it worsened with Tumblr and other networks that often promote unhealthy beauty standards. Anorexia is a collection of reflexes, an incessant inner judgment. While recovery is possible, it leaves severe mental and physical impact.
Her poems aim to shed light on an issue at the forefront of social media but often absent from mainstream narratives, such as literature and poetry. It is an opening toward life, toward healing, and rediscovering the child inside her.
CARRYING LIFE
Lying face down on the floor
The parquet beneath my outstretched limbs
I feel my hip bones rubbing against the wood
I form a compact whole with it
A wild breeze runs through my hair
I feel every joint shiver
I breathe, my belly touches the ground
Could it ever carry life after all the death it holds?
EVA
Eva, eating the apple, dared to challenge the perfection of her body.
She hungered for more than what was given. She craved a delicious, juicy, unknown treat. The first experimental cuisine, really—she wanted flavors from elsewhere. Punished for eating. And so am I, yet I want to rediscover the paradise of sweet apples, devoured one by one, without any judgment.
CHRISTMAS, AGE 13
I didn’t have dessert, but I still remember all those smells.
CREAM COFFEE, NOT FLAT WHITE
I had a cream coffee in a café near Crémone Square
I also decided to have an oil-drenched toast at the Eugenio Bar
The sparrow pecked at leftovers on nearby tables; I tried to read and not focus on my plate filled with fat, generous, abundant, and deliciously sinful bread, my plate is my plate.
The sparrow—I take its photo and decide to eat with it
Crumb by crumb, everything is oil and salt under the tongue
And you, do you want to kiss me?
Will it be sweet?
Or will there still be this taste of the sea
When you gather the sparrow in your arms
Its feathers stuck and cradled
as it’s saying yes to life?
EARTHLY TRUTH
My thighs are invisible—I don’t want them withering. I refuse to give them life, I refuse to give birth to this earthly truth, I let them be nothing but independent tufts of cotton that I will never caress. The milk flows over my hips as I warm it under my palms.
I see a friend silhouetted against the light, she walks toward me, but I don’t hear her steps. I close my eyes, the tiny cut at the corner of my lips burns. I’ll disinfect it with honey.
I spread the milk, the sun will swell me like fruit, I’ll remain hanging from the orchard tree, bursting with flesh and juice and everything
I’ll stay just long enough to see the moon
I’ll hold my place at the center of the barely formed universe
Before falling, a friend will grasp my skin, purple with bruises
Bursting and dripping with its own generosity
Are we ever too much or not enough
When we can be fruit of the sun and moon both?
GIVE ME BACK MY WINGS
Empty stomach - just coffee
I can’t do anything without breakfast,
But eating means weighing down,
and I want to fly
The watch feels heavy around me, its face square,
yet it will hold, as it always has,
as I know I will, too
But I love seeing my thin, emaciated wrists,
Muscles around bones, flesh around muscles,
elastic skin, reliable, bending endlessly.
Is anything ever not about to break?
The necklace bounces on my collarbones
Before eating, I touch them
After, I look at them
No, they haven’t suddenly changed.
Parents, are you proud?
Self, are you happy?
Do you see it changing?
Will I ever fly?
And this flesh—
Will it ever turn toward the sun?
And this sea—
Will I ever swim in it?
Muscles around bones, flesh around muscles,
elastic skin,
All is heavy,
yet only from within
EVERYTHING SPINS AROUND ME IN SPIRALS
She’s a sister who is no friend,
She follows every word I speak—
To hear, to count, to eat.
She clings to my skin, keeps it from
stretching.
She burns my ribcage, leaving ashes between charred bones,
The structure won’t collapse—
But maybe I will.
I am a breach, a gap in a wall
And I prevent anything from filling me
—to close or to heal.
‘You need to sleep’,
I am sleep.
Earth belongs to those who wish to inhabit it
And I want to devour it.
Aurélia Gervasoni is the founder of SINTONIA (@sintoniapoetryforlife), which offers personalized poems for individuals and businesses. She is also a legal researcher and a freelance journalist.