I'm splitting at the seams and bursting out of my own body
but I don't feel like a butterfly escaping a cocoon.
My flesh is ripping apart as fat fills up my every available space
like a child blowing up a balloon until it pops in his face
Angry red lightning bolts appear to try and hold me together
This female mockery of Zeus' power won't keep me from exploding
I could take my athame and cut those crimson valleys in my thighs
deeper and deeper until there is no cocoon to break free from
my bones will escape and dance in Diana's fields
before cracking apart and showering each gust of wind with dust
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
He used to hit us.
Not too much though,
Only a little.
I was too loud.
I took up all the space.
He hated it.
I’m still loud now,
But it’s different.
Now I know why
The words still spill out
Even when I’ve nothing to say.
I remember that feeling
of a chain on my voice box.
I still jump at every loud noise, they seem to follow me,
Echoing around the streets, screaming at me.
But it is that fear of the unknown keeps me safe, sharp.
And when a hand grasps my shoulder on the sidewalk outside a bakery
I snap. Pull and twist it behind their back, forcing them to their knees
Before noticing it’s just Andy, but I still don’t feel too sorry. I can’t.
He should know better that to sneak up on me like that by now.
I pull at this skin and globular fat that clings to my bones
I rip at my brown locks like I’m weeding a garden
I scrub my skin till shallow crimson rivers fall from my flesh,
Brush my teeth till the red seas part my gums. Not still, but now.
It makes it worth the past, if you can improve your present.
If you can mature enough to realize that what happened,
Happened for a reason, one you’ve plucked out of your life.
Or one you’ve learned to embrace and apply with confidence.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
I’m naked again, why I am always the naked one?
As I shift back and forth and listen to my joints pop,
And feel my muscles strain and spasm like an internal tick tock
Measuring how long I’ve been sitting here with each twitch.
White paper lining is crinkling under my ***
And all I can think about is the number of *****
Of all shapes and sizes that have sat here before I did,
Waiting for the doctor to come in and interrupt
Me reading all about how to tell if I have a hernia
Or looking at a distended bladder diagram.
“Hello miss, what can we do for you today?”
Oh I don’t know could you maybe give me my pants back
And pretend I’m not the thousandth **** you’ve seen this week.
Just some stripped down body you examine like a mechanic with an engine.
I watch as she catalogues the winces and delayed reflexes,
Searching for sensitive points and any patch of skin
With the telltale rough marker of Auto-immune.
The medication conversation lasts a while,
And she mixes up a new cocktail for me for the fifth time.
We talk about my life habits, “I’m totally quitting smoking.”
But I’m not. I febreezed myself before I came in.
We talk about how my body is doing like it is separate from me,
Like it’s some entity that ruins my day and hers on purpose.
It is always the same **** I can practically quote her.
“Well, the test results were inconclusive.”
“Another cautionary breast exam.”
“Lets try the strength test again.
Are you even trying today?”
I am, and I can tell she’s worried, but in an abstract way
Like you’d worry about whether or not war will break out in Dubai.
It’s always the same scene, and I am always the naked one,
Whether I have my clothes on or not.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I can feel my heart-rate skyrocket
every time you touch my hair,
and every time you laugh at my jokes
it beats hard enough to burst.
And when you're gone you occupy my thoughts
whether I want you to or not.
Each time I feel a blush rush to my cheeks
or my hands tremble nervously,
I feel that flurry of school girl emotions
followed by a sick swooping feeling
deep in my stomach and up through my chest.
And its all I can to not to get ill.
You don't want me the way I want you
but its enough, more than enough for me,
and more than I ever thought I'd get.
I could never be mad at you.
The more I see of you the more I like,
whether I want to or not.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
I broke my deep plum plump up lip gloss container today.
It was just long enough to fit in my hand and stick out just that little bit,
And just thick enough that when I gripped it tight
and slammed it into my thighs over and over and over
it left pretty pink circular marks along the cellulite.
Those marks gained in number until I was staring,
breathless and trembling, at a bruise the size of a softball.
I took another breath and hit myself one more time
and the plastic broke covering my hand and leg
in that dark purple colour I would see in a few hours
but in a much more lasting shade this time.
I threw the gloss into the bin inside the bathroom stall
wiped the mess up with toilet paper
and traced the bumps beneath my skin
Mad because I had to punish myself, but also
Mad because my brain told me I deserve it.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
I fell in love the way only a young 20-something can.
So completely and so fully that it encompasses your whole being
and grabs your heart with a fist the size of a watermelon
squeezing with the strength of a horse
one in the last leg of a race to prove it's worth to the stadium.
Your heart was not seized with mine,
and you stared into my eyes feeling empty- both in reality and inside.
You brought apologetic smiles and guilty shifting eyes
to my swollen heart like a paltry offering to an angry god,
One who has already scorched the earth.
I love you. And you don't love me. And you don't love yourself.
And inside your body are piles of self-loathing left like laundry,
you won't let me in to clean or organize your mind, heart, soul.
Inside my body are piles of hurt, sadness, and anger,
but you can leave them be, leave them for me to heal and cry over.
You don't have to help me or even let me help you, just let me love you.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Blackened and blued flesh fades to green and yellow
but more will bloom beneath the skin soon.
Bruises from crazy nights out with strangers and *****
or wild nights in with new friends (read: not yours) and ***
and I never know when they appear, but I watch them disappear.
Nearly clear ***** lines the bag in my trash
with paraphernalia of alcoholism littered on top.
Bottles and cans and disposable $1.99 shot glasses
layered between Chinese take out and a broken six inch heel pump.
The smell might bother me if I was home more.
I haven't met the mornings for coffee
in what seems like years, instead I stumble inside
lay on a stained mattress surrounded by clothing
and sleep it off. It used to be different,
but without anyone to stop me, why not live it up?
There is no reason to slow down any more.
I have new friends and new hobbies
and I've nearly forgotten your face now.
So why should I stop, when my new plans
The ones without you, are going accordingly?
There is no real problem with enjoying my youth,
and if you disagree let me take you out with me.
You're the one who told me to grow up
when I said, "I love you." and if I choose not to,
I'll leave you at the bottom of whatever drink I choose.
There's no real problem with enjoying my youth, right?
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I’ve seen you twice since it happened
And each time you looked away so fast
I thought your neck might snap,
Like my face burned your retinas.
Am I so disgusting to you now
That the sight of me turns your stomach?
Am I so repulsive to you now
That sharing a space induces nausea?
You looked at me, in that brief moment
Like you’d look at a piece of road ****
The words “I love you” scared you
So much so that you left my life entirely.
When I spoke those words without thinking
I didn’t know this would happen
That you’d pretend we never met,
And when you saw me on occasion
I’d make you feel so sick.
I told you it was fine, I was fine.
I could be your friend no matter the circumstance,
But the horror you felt at the mere idea
That I wanted to be with you
Ruined and overturned our friendship.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
I’m more like a flower than a person.
I’m wilting, losing my petals, drying up.
I’m in a vase with others, and they seem to be doing fine.
They are blooming in vibrant shades of pink and red
With proud leaves catching the sun from a window near by.
They let off fragrant fumes to passers by
And everyone stops to look at the gift nature has given.
But then they notice the small dying flower near the back
And think, that should be pruned out
It would improve the over all look of the arrangement.
But maybe I am run away with this metaphor.
I am more like a china doll than a person.
I am fragile, painted, and stationary.
People see me and they know I have no real purpose
I cannot be played with, like other dolls
I cannot be taken around the world as a child’s companion,
I must sit preserved on the safety of a high up shelf.
A toy for children that can never fulfill its purpose
Because to do so would break me.
Or maybe I am more like the old pictures of an ex
The ones you keep hidden under your mattress.
I am only viewed and handled when you are lonely,
When no one else is giving you attention I am your last resort.
But when you look at me you remember why we no longer see each other
Why I am a memory rather than a lover.
I am too much work to be anything other than a smile
One that says things used to be good
But now call for us to be apart
Possibly I am like a song you have heard so many times it makes you sick.
The one you used to love, played over and over when you felt blue,
But eventually you realized my lyrics were contrived
And my message irritating, my beat not that catchy.
When you hear me now you think, ugh, more of this?
You still know all of the words,
You just wish that you didn’t, because my song means nothing to you now.
My beat is a reminder of a phase in your life,
One you don’t wish to revisit.
I could be more like that hamster you got in the 8th grade.
The one that seemed adorable with its fluffy hair and tiny nose,
Until you realized how much work I am,
How our relationship was one sided with all the work falling to you.
Cleaning my cage, feeding me, bathing me,
And doing everything you do for yourself, for me as well.
And it just wasn’t what you signed up for,
So after a few months of boredom you let me die,
And held the little funeral for appearances sake.
I am more like my illness than I am like a real person,
Or at least at times it seems I am to you.
I need more help than most people,
I can’t go out all the time like most people.
I need rest, and need breaks, I need a helping hand
To prevent my body from falling apart.
So I think maybe the metaphors are pointless,
Because you are tired of me complaining
And you aren’t listening to me anymore.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
I can feel warm blood drip down my muzzle
Painting my fur with that gorgeous crimson
There’s nothing like the fresh ****
That snap and crack of bone and cartilage
Taking down the prey and owning their body
Opening them up and watching their eyes fade
Until it’s just me and dinner
The chase isn’t the best part
The best part is when you pounce
When you know you are going to win
Because the predator inside has to
The call to run, to feed more, to ****
It’s what makes a wolf, what makes me powerful
The thrumming in my veins that says
I was made for this, was made to hunt
Racing through the forest
My muscles tensing and relaxing as I run
Faster than anything else in here
I can smell every little bunny and squirrel
Shivering with the knowledge that I run this place
There is no escaping me, no way out
And I will always find you
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC