hi, what’s your name, who do you love, do you think the world is ending? i do. i like the idea of dying my hair pink, i know ten different ways to overdose, my friends say i have a pretty smile but don’t always like my face in pictures. hi, my friend said she wanted to make herself throw up her food last night. hi, i know a girl who went to Europe over the summer and all her friends were jealous but she spent the entire summer trying to relearn how to eat. and i wonder if i could learn that too. hi, my friend got drunk and decided she was sad and so she took some pills so she could become happy. i see her two weeks later in geometry. spoiler alert she isn’t happy. hi, i like the idea of fried chicken picnics but my boyfriend says that he won’t stand for animal cruelty. (He’s a vegetarian.) but somehow he is okay with human cruelty because my skirt is always too short and my shirts are always too baggy and I’m just always too faulty for a boy who writes letters to the state about providing more support in the school system. (too bad he can never support me when i say i like how i can make clothes that make girls feel beautiful.) hi, my mom said it’s just a stage to feel sad and that if I only give it two weeks, it will go away. the sadness didn’t but she did. hi, i think that drowning is scary but sometimes i like counting the seconds before i black out. hi, my therapist told me to write letters to everyone who left but i keep addressing the letters to myself. i left. hi, my friend’s boyfriend texted me last night. he said that she wasn’t making him happy anymore so maybe i should try. i asked him if he believed i could make him happy or if happiness was just a concept he wanted but could never achieve. he slept with jessica the next day. hi, some people say that i talk too much about feelings but i am just trying to understand. my heart is a muscle, why does it hurt. my brain is just nerve endings, why is it short circuiting . hi, i punched by hand into the wall over and over again. when it bruised, i laughed and took a polariod. is this destructive behavior or am i just a little sad. i don’t really want to die but i wouldn’t mind not waking up. hi, i am that girl who looks so pretty, my waist isn’t slim but boys like the rest of my antaomy. hi, i can’t tell what i hate more: myself or how much pink hair dye costs
Tag: poems
a sad girl in summer
i don’t mean to be sad in summer / three months of lemon ice / beach blanket bingo / and late mornings / but happiness for me / is a limited addition candle / not sold in summer / so i find depression lurking / in the shadows of my room / once the light is gone / and in the times / i eat out of habit / not hunger / and now / i go to bed / not wanting to fall asleep / and wake up / wishing i could sleep / i just feel scared / because if i can’t be happy in summer / what is there to say / i can ever be happy again?
(OSFED)
to the boy who said he liked girls better when they could eat:
it is an addiction / the feeling of empty / where full should be / there is nothing more toxic / than wanting to tear your body apart / calorie by calorie / too tired of life to care / that you’re starting to smudge along the edges / a mirage just starting to disappear / because the only thing you can think of / is how good loose jeans feel / and soon you just go numb / to the feeling / of despair / because the feeling of empty / the feeling of reality slipping away / it’s addicting / and when you try to recover / guilt leaves a bad after taste / because you have spent so long / forcing yourself to be unfilled / that you have forgotten how to swallow / and the food feels unfamiliar / like a person you used to know well / who hasn’t wiped their feet / on the welcome mat yet / because they are not sure / if they are allowed to stay / but yes / say that you like your girls better when the can eat / because / i liked myself better / when i could too.
the other day i overheard a conversation where the boy remarked how he liked it better when girls actually ate. when they didn’t order salads or just nibble on their food. i was extremely angered by this. girls (and boys) can have eating disorders. there can be so many reasons why a person might not eat, so saying this is extremely insensitive and could be triggering to someone. one great misconception about eating disorders, is that a person can chose if they eat or not. while this might sound factually true, the reality is that the mentality of not eating is in place. so you are fighting against a mental barrier that says you shouldn’t eat. so your brain transmits this message to your body and after a while without food, your body will stop sending signals that it needs it. like hunger pains and stomach growling. the struggle of actually coming back from an eating disorder to try and live a normal life, is not talked about enough. it is so hard and so underrated. a person has to practically rewire their entire brain to stop seeing food as the enemy. even after they do this, there are days where they relapse and days where they feel so guilt for eating. for feeding themselves. there are times where they have to catch themselves before looking on the back of a nutrition label and adding up the calorie intake. i liked myself better when i could eat too but it is so scary to gain weight. to see the pounds add up when all you taught yourself was to watch them go down.
my little brother / has elated innocence / over the bullet proof backpacks / asking questions / thinking they are for / battles where good always wins / not to take to school / to protect him / since our own government cannot /he is a little boy / who plays with plastic toy soldiers / because he does not yet know / that the war is now in his classroom / not somewhere else.
rapunzel
the stone was no barrier
her soul couldn’t break
the tangled yearning of her heart burst free
and swooped from the windows lip
to caress the clouds in the ever width of blue
and twine about the thatch’s peak
a faux yellow to her gold
and she smiled at the ones who claimed
she had never tasted freedom before
(a witch in her own right)
i find her tender / lipstick smudged / making the illison of a soft smile / on her face / and she asks / looking out at the sea of faces / so familiar that it hurts / “will this all matter tomorrow?” / will the pounds she lost to date him / will the friends she shed / the clothes she wore / matter at all / and i lie / because i have been wondering the same thing / “yes, of course……it has to.”
on January nights i feel as if / i am suffocating / through 3 am nightmares / turn down the heat / turn down the heat / it’s too hot in this empty room / draw back the covers / draw back the covers / and then everything is fire / everyone is burning / he reaches / his touch scalding my skin / i scream / he always hurt / his love always hurt / and now i’m burned from it.
my therapist does not believe in soul mates. she says it’s bull crap. “‘they can’t die if you never stop loving them’” she scoffs. “if that was true, you wouldn’t be in therapy.” she is not my therapist anymore.
on the days my mother wakes up sad / she tucks this despair / into the pocket of her jeans / and makes bacon for breakfast / kissing my forehead tenderly / because she has taught herself / how to co exist with her sadness / and like how she raised me / she takes this sadness / and loves it like the world / has no end / she loves her sad / until there is nothing left to love / and then / she loves her happy.
it has taken me a long time to realize / that i owe it to no one / to have to a read a book / when i don’t like the words / and that applies to people too
dimples
she’d told me before how / she could already imagine / being the person who brought out / the dimples in his smile / and my mind told me to speak / saying that i had been that person / for him / but instead / i just pushed the heartbreak / down to the darkest pit of me / and decided not to tell her / that he has dimples when he frowns too.
sometimes
sometimes / a happy girl can’t be happy / sometimes she wrecks herself / into so many trillion pieces / that shards of her / drift into nothing / sometimes she learns / that a good day / can eclipse into a bad / and that boys with dimples / take your hand in theirs / while swinging an axe at your back / but most importantly / sometimes / she comes to the realization / that what makes people / people / is the very same thing / that makes monsters / monsters.
i get up late / and stretch my muscles / like a tawny jungle cat / opening my jaws in a small yawn / saving my roar for another day / and for all the mothers / who cautioned their daughters / of the wilds of the world / and taught them the ways / of the scurrying creatures / that lie underfoot in the foliage / you are not like my mother / who brushed my glimmering pelt / and crooned old lullabies / telling me that i shared a similar bone structure / to wondrously wild things / and i could change the world / if only i learned to roar truth
dear diary
december 18 2016.
dear diary \ a girl told me today \ she liked me better quiet \ and i didn’t tell her \ i was never loud \ because if i told her that \ she would ask why \ and i would find myself \ plastering a smile across the cracking drywall of my face \ sliding my shutters closed \ and saying with a voice as bright \ as my window boxes \ “nevermind.” / because i like girls better \ when they don’t see me as \ a nancy drew mystery \ waiting to be solved \ for i have made \ a home for myself \ in the imperfect body \ i am housed in \ and girls are choas \ and fire \ and curiousity \ and everything i once had \ but was stripped away \ in the remodeling \ he did to me.
the butterfly boy
he let his tongue wander \ into the nectar sweet cavern \ of my mouth \ touching my sides \ with his soft large hands \ brushing over the parts of me \ that used to my favorite \ but i had buried all away \ whispering to me tales of metamorphosis \ like a calling to a church \ burying past all my cocooned layers \ to capture the chained beating \ of my moth heart \ and setting it free
Perfectly Imperfect Me 