You Are What You Eat

A poem exploring chronic illness from trauma.

Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself


Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

My body became a prison for the crime committed against it.

The true culprits remain feasting at the banquets.

Ferociously masticating with their putrescent mouths agape.

Unconvicted. Unarrested. Undisrupted.

I once was a girl who knew nothing of nutrients, so I selected

unhealthy vices, and for that, I’ll suffer longer than

they have to consider. Do you think their vicious fangs ever

chew on the fact that car rides used to thrill me?

“Where are we going?” Air flowing, hair blowing,

windshield glowing. Even this simple joy. Stolen. Taken

for granted before I met the band of thieves.

Now summer trips are haunted by the anxiety of

another flare, another glare,

another groan, another moan,

not of pleasure — a now foreign memory unworthy of risk,

for the consequences of allowing my lips to form

into the briefest toothy grin could live for days.



Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

Top Writer in Feminism. Blogger for Say It Loud Space (UK). Trauma, relationships, and analysis of media and culture.