The stars didn’t align like how I thought they would.
I used to sit on my stoop late at night
Gazing up at the stars and begging for the universe to take me.
Fill my lungs with stardust instead and let me go to the home
My heart never ceased aching for.
I equated their twinkling to laughter,
I imagined them trading bets on how long they could wait
Until I took matters into my own hands.
How many times I would fail until one of them took pity on me.
Shooting stars like shooting dice and passing satellites
Like the scrolling KENO screen at the celestial casino.
I shouldn’t have survived those nights.
I was their underdog racehorse beating the odds again and again and again.
I felt the universe looking down gently upon me,
Pulling out an ancient coin in their heavenly hands
To finally flip and decide once and for all if I shall stay or go.
And as the coin flipped, my world imploded.
Wrapped in a cosmic blanket I stood face to face with the sun.
Bright, warm rays enveloped me, a light more beautiful than I’d ever known before.
He said to me “it hurts to become” and I knew what he meant but
I wanted to be as powerful, proud, and warm as him.
The coin landed.
And courageously,
I became.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 1:07 AM UTC
I was floating in honey.
The viscosity of the substance
Made it so that, while I still needed to work
To keep my head afloat,
I had a little extra support.
So I didn't have to do it alone.
And it was good.
But my temperature began to rise.
I became too hot too fast, and,
Because of my actions
I started to destroy the beneficial parts
That the honey needed to remain useful and healthy.
So the honey reacted:
Threw my melting self out of its jar.
I tried to jump back in
But the honey firmly ******* its lid back on,
And my charring fists
Fruitlessly pounded on the boundary
The honey had erected.
Then as my body and brain burned,
The other honey jars disappeared-
Distancing in acts of self-preservation.
I knew how I could get my temperature
Back to baseline.
I just needed a little help
So I could work to get back to my normal self.
But my actions had pushed away what I needed.
So I accepted the fate I had caused,
And allowed my body to fall to ash.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 9:05 PM UTC
Rubber bands wrap my body
The tan pseudo-office-supplies
Run in lines akin to guitar strings.
They’re both slippery and stiff,
And they pull in their surroundings
Holding them close like rubber bands do.
They are the reason I’m still whole.
Constricting around my body and mind,
Keeping everything together.
But when they begin to fail at that job
And thus threatening I fall to pieces,
I simply add some more,
To reinforce the wrapping’s reliability.
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 12:36 PM UTC
The urgent care is the nursery
Where I choose my seeds with thought.
The doctor is the gardener
Who knows how to fix what I’ve wrought.
She sows the seeds inside my skin,
Yet not with a trowel or ***
She uses a needle and surgical thread,
With budding knots lined up in a row.
Then she leaves me with my tidy ground
And some knowledge on how I should care
For the lined up plot she’s left to me,
Whose potential I’m required to bear.
The deep rivet I slashed into my skin
Is where the seedlings take root.
The blood from my veins keeps them moist
As the new blossoms stand resolute.
But when the weather grows dark and dreary,
My sprouts need cover from the cold.
So I bundle them up with jeans and sweats
To protect them and let them take hold.
But despite the layers I pile atop,
The small spiny blooms poke through.
I run my fingers back and forth,
And marvel at how fast they grew.
Then after they’ve grown for fourteen days,
I return to the nursery at last.
The gardener plucks and prunes and picks
‘Til the wounds and the blooms come to pass.
So now the perennials have passed us by,
And the sprouts have been taken to bin.
The wound that watered my seedlings’ through,
Has left but a scar on my skin.
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 11:20 AM UTC
Yesterday I looked at myself in the mirror
And although I tried to take the advice given to me by my therapist
I was unable to find a single thing I might even just tolerate about myself.
Instead, my mind and heart raced each other, trying to see who would win the prize of defeating me
as I scan my naked body for each and every inconsistency and insufficiency.
You see my first memory of self hatred comes from a place most people could not predict.
Imagine me at six years old standing in the shower, so proud of myself
For finally graduating from the bathtub I had associated with childhood.
I had just finished reading “Falling Up” by Shel Silverstein.
And out of the more than 400 poems by this poet one stuck to my brain
Like peanut butter on the roof of my mouth after eating a PB&J.
Now if you’ll forgive me for getting off track for just this moment
I’d like to read you this poem entitled “Scale.”
“If I could only see the scale,
I’m sure that it would state
That I’ve lost ounces...maybe pounds
Or even tons of weight.
‘You’d better eat some pancakes-
You’re skinny as a rail.’
I’m sure that’s what the scale would say…
If only I could see the scale.”
If you’ve ever read a poem by Shel Silverstein you’d know that each of them
Are accompanied by an illustration.
This particular poem is positioned next to a drawing of a person standing on a scale
Unable to see the number because their stomach juts out just far enough
To block their view of the information that scale is providing.
I remember looking down at my naked body
Only to realize that i also could not see my feet.
My childish, growing, prepubescent tummy obstructed my view of my toes.
And I remember thinking for the first time, “Wow, I am fat.”
And that same feeling has followed me throughout these subsequent years.
Throughout elementary, middle, high school and beyond.
My dysmorphic perspective has been a shadow of which I could not shake.
And try as I might, deep down I knew that this was my fate.
I started restricting what I ate starting in 6th grade.
-I counted calories lost and gained and measured my size by the tightness of a tank top.
I watched videos of people like Eugenia Cooney,
and inspired myself through the photos I saw of
Emaciated girls kept alive by feeding tubes.
I was 12.
-I was diagnosed with Ee Dee En Oh Ess in the summer of seventh grade.
EDNOS is a catch-all eating disorder characterized by the characteristics you lacked
To be able to gain the coveted name brand DSM-5 diagnosis of anorexia.
-This I considered to be my failure.
To not qualify because of a lack of being underweight was all I needed for motivation.
So I doubled down on my efforts to lose weight and by the age of fourteen
I had finally achieved that which I so...craved.
I was the best. The skinniest. The one people whispered about in the halls and I had all the attention I could ever dream of getting.
And I was happy.
Wasn’t I?
Skip ahead to now and you will know my comeback story.
Seven years of weekly therapy, numerous psych ward stays, and one near-death experience
I can finally say that I am at a stable and healthy weight.
I continue to despise my body, but now I have the tools and mechanisms to be able to fight off the demon I had nicknamed “Ana”.
-And while I still cannot say that I truly love myself the way I am,
Slowly and steadily I continue to improve.
And I hope that one day I can look into that mirror, take in all my flaws and still be able to tell little 6 year old Grace…
“Sweet girl, you will be okay”.
Oct 20, 2021
Oct 20, 2021 at 9:51 PM UTC
Her small round face stares back at her
Blinking blue eyes in the bright blue light and
She looks around knowing it’s wrong but not daring to ask why
While chubby pale fingers type in the line
“Chat rooms for kids”
She know that she is not yet old enough to be here
She’s only nine but she checks the box to assure the website that, yes,
She is 18 years old or above and, yes,
She understands that there is adult content present inside of this room and, yes,
Child **** is not permitted beyond this door.
But to a nine year old these letters on the page are meaningless.
She doesn’t know what adult content is or even how to
Pronounce the word *********** precisely.
All she knows is that in a matter of clicks
She will mean something.
She will mean something, and she will have worth.
She will be loved and cared for and praised and called a
Good girl, a
Babygirl, a
Kitten, a
Beautiful
Stunning
Delicious looking darling.
She learns new vocabulary terms but instead of words like
C-C-Contrast or
T-T-Typical or
D-D-Difficult
She begins to ingrain in her brain new and exciting words like
C-C-Cock or
T-T-Tits or
D-D-Dick.
She even learns how to use these fancy adult-y adultery words in a sentence like
“How big is your C-C-Cock?” and
“I don’t have T-T-Tits yet” and
“I want to touch your D-D-Dick”.
And with every letter her tiny hands typed out, more and more men
Flocked to her DMs, ready to give her all the love she could ever need if only
In exchange for a couple of things…
Will you do a dance for me?
Will you say this sentence for me?
Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?
Show me what such a big girl can do with that P-P-Pussy.
And she continues to learn new things such as that
ASL means age, *** location and that anything above 7 inches is
A good and impressive and “wow” thing and that
If she does what these men on the screen ask her to then
She will make them happy, which makes her happy, which means that she has done good.
And she learns that certain ways she moves makes them happier
And certain poses she can do allows them to show her their magic trick.
She doesn’t know how the magic trick works but it doesn’t matter because
When they perform their magic trick they thank her
And praise her and say nice things to her and
That’s all she really wanted.
She found a home in that cream colored background of
Www . chatavenue . com and she knew that even when the world
Was against her sweet, innocent nine year old self that she could
Turn to that blinking cursor and type a few letters and be able to
Feel loved.
And that was all she really wanted.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 6:42 PM UTC
My father walked me down the aisle
But it wasn't with a veil
My father walked me down the aisle
My eyes were dark and pale.
My father walked me down the aisle
Towards the priest in white
My father walked me down the aisle
My eyes were staring without sight.
My father walked me down the aisle
But I'm not dressed for Him.
My father walked me down the aisle
My figure wan and thin.
My father walked me down the aisle
I'm dressed in Sunday best,
My father walked me down the aisle
Tears falling onto his breast.
My father walked me down the aisle
But we're not holding hands
My father walked me down the aisle
My men around me stand.
My father walked me down the aisle
Without something old or something new.
My father walked me down the aisle
Without borrowed; nothing blue.
My father walked me down the aisle
My face is all made up
My father walked me down the aisle
The priest prepares the bloodcup.
My father walked me down the aisle
But I'm not standing tall
My father walked me down the aisle
I'm hiding underneath a pall.
My father walked me down the aisle
Along with five other men.
My father walked me down the aisle
The ceremony's about to begin.
My father walked me down the aisle
He set me down at the front
My father walked me down the aisle
His baby is at the forefront.
My father walked me down the aisle
And sat down at his seat
My father walked me down the aisle
He sat, and then he weeped.
My father walked me down the aisle
His job is almost done
My father walked me down the aisle
Eyes staring at no one.
My father walked me down the aisle
And then left me far behind.
My father walked me down the aisle
I'll always be on his mind.
My father walked me down the aisle
And left me in my grave
My father walked me down the aisle
A last flower petal is what he gave.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 11:13 AM UTC
Sherri can you hear me?
I'm sitting in my bathroom,
I've got a bunch of pills
And I'm ready to meet my doom.
Sherri can you hear me?
I'm almost ready to die.
I called you for one reason,
I wanted to say goodbye.
Sherri can you hear me?
Please don't call nine-one-one
Nothing can help anymore.
It's all done; I'm done.
Sherri can you hear me?
One, two, three, four.
Counting pills, ready for death
Oh no, they're at the door.
Sherri I gotta go,
The ambulance is here.
My wrists are sliced real bad
And my death is getting near.
Sherri I'm so scared.
Lights and sirens are on high.
They're sticking stickers on my body,
My death will soon be nigh.
Grace can you hear me?
My heart's beating too fast.
I'm seizing, once, twice, three times,
This day will soon be my last.
Grace, stop, stop!
I'm pulling out my needle
Barely aware of what's happening
My body's turning feeble.
Grace, why did you do it?
I'm now being interrogated.
Summit Ridge or Peachford?
To the hospital I am fated.
Mom can you hear me?
It's finally visitor's day.
I'm so anxious, I love you lots
Please mom, will you stay?
Grace did you hear me?
You're going no matter what.
Skyland Trail's the next step,
No ifs, ands, or buts.
Mom can you hear me?
I miss you too much.
Please. come pick me up,
I really miss your touch.
Friends can you hear me?
You're help was invaluable.
A Thank You goes to everyone
My recovery is beyond admirable.
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
I wear my mask almost every single day
It feels like I just can't get away.
I wear it to hide the real and true "me"
Hide me away so no one can see.
I wear a mask to hide the truth
I was hurt many times during my youth.
Trusting people who shouldn't be trusted
My innocent self was truly beyond busted.
The mental illness that resulted from that
Makes every day a day with combat.
I wear my mask to hide from others
My struggles that I seek to cover.
People with BPD struggle immensely
To seek and to hold their own true identity.
I count myself as one among them
A lifetime of masks I have been condemned.
It feels as though I am a ball
Up and down, forever I fall.
Not tethered to anything, flailing about,
A cycle I cycle, never to get out.
It affects my relations by ceasing to exist
Even though I try hard to persist.
My personality changes too often
Hanging with me deserves a precaution.
So I'll wear my mask, I'll don it again
To keep them from seeing me so insane.
The true "me" is hidden, back to pretend I go,
You know me too well, true "me" almost showed.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC