Disorder

I starve myself
of every word
that builds my bones
strong with deceit
until I can see
my skeleton
through thin skin.
I throw up
every empty praise
and every lie
ever said to me
without sincerity
to purge myself
of the vanity that
hugs my frame.
I will become
a shadow of
who you've built me to be,
in order to die
to the "me" that requires
your words to survive.
Whether you praise or you judge,
you are unnecessary to me;
there's only One,
who has the perfect words.