The Weightless One by Anaïs Chartschenko is now available on Amazon!
After a party changed everything, Miranda loses her appetite. She is placed in an eating disorder treatment program, where she must be brave enough to face the truth she was trying to bury.
Anaïs Chartschenko is a poet, singer, and artist I’ve had the pleasure of knowing for some time now. The Weightless One is her third book of dark, gritty, and honest poetry.
Anaïs Chartschenko hails from the Canadian wilderness. She has come to enjoy such modern things as electric tea kettles. Her published works include two collections of poetry, Bright Needles and The Whisper Collector as well as a novel in verse, The Weightless One.
You can find her on several social media platforms, such as Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Amazon, and YouTube— and none of them are boring.
Additional places to wander:
Website: http://anaischartschenko.weebly.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15387157.Anais_Chartschenko
BEWARE: Anaïs is suspected of actually being a fairy-in-disguise.
Other Books By Anaïs:
The Whisper Collector
Buy Bright Needles
Interested in Anaïs music?
Buy Howling at the Moon: Live from my Living Room
Buy Immigration
Excerpt from The Weightless One
Reasons I Have To Stay
I was signed in,
I have no choice.
They tell me
My heart is failing.
They tell me
When you starve
Long enough, your body
Starts to eat your muscles.
Your heart is a muscle. It becomes
Your unwilling dinner.
They show me charts with
Low iron, low this and low that.
They tell me I need to take this
Serious.
But it doesn’t seem real.
All that is real is my sudden
Total lack of control, total
Forced surrender, it feels
So broken it can never be
Fixed-
I can’t agree to any of these
Things. Not even when I
Feel my heart forget a beat.
Not even when I’m hooked
To machines.
Reasons I Should Get To Leave
I don’t count calories.
I don’t weigh myself.
I don’t obsess over models.
I don’t exercise.
I don’t take laxatives or
Diuretics.
I don’t make myself
Throw up.
I don’t care what you think.
I think for myself.
I’m not this, I still have
My period.
Okay?
Little Fish
We lay in a tight row
Like sardines,
Wrapped tight in
Blankets and thick
Fuzzy pajamas
Getting our blood
Pressure checked
Lay down, and close
My eyes to the other
Girls’ gossip, they
Try to include me,
But I have nothing
To say in the morning
This is a strange torment,
Laying so close to the others
Trapped between laughter
And the talk of having to
Drink ensures or not,
Of having to go to an
Increased nutrition plan,
Of family therapy sessions
Coming at the end of the
Week.
Doll
Kara began
Pulling out
Her hair
Extensions
Bundles of
Blonde lay
On the floor,
Her lion mane
Alopecia found
“I’m sick of
The lies!” She
Twisted her
Face up her
Hands knotted
In hair
“Where did this
Come from?
I didn’t grow it!”
We watched
In horror
We watched
Unable to
Look away
From her
Transformation
Underneath she
Was so small
Like a fragile glass
Doll,
Her features too
Large for her head
Her hair was only
A few inches long
Thin dirty dishwater
Blonde strands like
Weeds dried out
In the sun
She smiled
She laughed
She burrowed
Her face in
Borrowed hair
And
Cried.
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Author David Wiley 