"It's My Party, I Can Rhyme If I Want To"

NutriBullet:  This year's birthday reward, courtesy of parents via Amazon.com

Personal Ad:  From Famished Female

Lifelong lightweight

seeks mealtime mate

to placate

the heartache

of intake.

For health's sake

a vitamin-rich nutri-shake

will satiate, and help negate

 her daily menu gaps and breaks.

With forceful fork you'd rake

all crumbs left out in the wake

of the portions she ate

in the absence of candle-crowned cake.

Her fragile life is at stake

when every morsel dictates

the direction it takes.

Cannot overstate

author's hate

of asylum locked-gates

where M.D.'s create

a shaming state.

Esteem deflates

as overseers belittle, berate,

unfairly conflate

a patient's low weight

with the calculated, mendacious traits

of an impenitent and snaky fake:

the ingrate who schemes to steal and take.

The ability to remunerate

such specialty estates

would require collection plates

or lucky lottery sweepstakes

in this, our current welfare state.

But make no mistake,

the author may not wait

to matriculate as patient-inmate,

eager, she is, to see abate

her chances of a dismal fate

that ultimately relates

to the growing anorexic mortality rate.

Arriving on this anniversary date

 at one year less than four times eight

with not much cause to celebrate,

accomplishments being nothing great,

the author seeks new routes to take;

to recalibrate, invigorate a better slate.

This August dawn may yet motivate

to work, to challenge, to stand-up straight.

The wish:  that she might actuate, accentuate,

and embrace the female body some equate 

with a mother's gift to create

when womb is nourished and awake.

The glow, the glory that relates

to womanly traits

this waif yearns to reinstate

--then, in mind and mirror, radiate--

before it's said of her, "too little, too late."