They told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

An aspiring perfectionist.

I finished school with the best of grades and the best of friends.

Controlled and cautious.

University arrived last year as a blur of new faces, places and experiences.

I started to question what I wanted to do.

Do I want to spend the rest of my life doing biology?

It isn’t my passion.

I’m barely struggling through, telling myself that if I fail again it will be okay.

If I fail again I can write or cook for a living.

Because my passion lies in food and literature, yes?

Creating the delicate art that is food, and putting sensitive words to the messed up world around me.

That’s what I will tell them when they ask why I have failed; wasted myself.

But I will be lying to them.

For every penny I spend on words, I will spend a thousand pounds on ridding myself of this greedy demon, forcing me to eat the calories which sicken and bloat me.

What’s the point?

I don’t care if my talents live on the backburner.

I only aspire to be thin.


3 thoughts on “Aspirations

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