I used to always wonder how people lived in New York City.
Where were the homes?
When I was younger I used to picture these rural houses with beautiful green grass and a lovely wrap around pine wood porch adjacent to the Empire State Building. Then I grew up and realized apartments existed, I realized neighborhoods in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Queens existed and were places where suburban homes and condominiums were.
I realized that not all homes were made with grass and wrap around porches.
Some homes were on the fourth floor of an apartment complex with a musty smell and a view of a graffitied wall in the ghetto.
I realized that sometimes these places felt more like home than any home in a small rural town with a smoke puffing chimney and windmill could ever feel.

My first mistake was being born.
Because when you are born the child of a doctor and an engineer you have expectations, you see.
You must be smart,
but of course not too smart because you’re a girl.
You must carry yourself with poise and grace,
but not too graceful or else you’ll be seen as too girly.
You must be successful,
but if you’re too successful no man will want to marry you.
Because when your father dies two months before you are born and your mother is constantly working, you’re already an orphan.
You must be happy,
but of course not too happy, because then people will think you’re strange.
You must help others,
but not before you help yourself.
You must not cry,
but if you do, make sure you hide it.
Because when you’re a sweet white girl with a nice body you’re seen as an object.
You must let him touch you,
but if you don't like it, make sure you act like you do.
You must never say no,
but if you do and he hits you, you cannot tell anybody.
You must not tell anybody,
but if you do and they laugh, you must understand.
Because when you’re a dancer and a runner, the pressure to be beautiful and thin is stronger than your cries of help.
You must restrict your calories,
but if you cant, make sure you throw up.
You must apply makeup and cover your blemishes,
but if you cant, make sure you hide your face.
You must exercise until you pass out,
but if you cant, make sure you don't eat the next day.
Because if you do not get good grades you are not good enough.
You must study,
but if you forget, make sure you cry yourself to sleep because you cannot do this anymore.
You must be the best in your class,
but if you can’t be, make sure you congratulate the best, even though you cannot do this anymore.
You must stay in and work hard instead of going out and having fun,
but if you don’t, make sure you feel guilty about it since you cannot do this anymore.
You must be happy.
You must be smart.
You must not cry.
You must be perfect.
You have to be.
You can’t be.

I know it's taking my life away.
I know it's a facade.
I know it's ruining me.
But it's also a whole part of my brain that's different.
And I can't just switch it off.
I can't just make a change.
I can't have good day after good day. There's so many ups and downs. And that's why when people say "well just eat." It's so angering because,
I. Am. Not. In. Control.
I don't want to throw up I ******* hate it. Everytime I do it I literally go "no no no. But I have to."
And when I see ice cream or bread I reach for it and it's like something grabs my hand out of thin air and breaks my wrist.
And it's a physical pain and I want to cry all the time because I hate living like this.
But I'm scared living without it, too.
It's such a comfort and that's what's most scary about it.
And I can never foresee a future for myself. I get panicked because I can't even figure out what I want right now. All I can think about is this disease.

She sat at the back of a club.
107 people.
But she felt like she was the only one.
The music pounded in her ears, making everything seem even more quiet.
Because no one noticed her falling apart right in front of them.
Because no one noticed her mascara running down her porcelain face.
Because no one heard her sobs as she sat there, isolated from the rest.
She felt more alone in this crowd.
Then she ever could in her own room.
The happiness of others,
made her realize that sadness of her own.
A sadness that had no depth, you couldn't reach the bottom.
A sadness that made even the sunniest days dark.
A sadness unlike the rest.
And so as she sat there with 107 other people. She sat there by herself.

And if you're ever feeling alone...
Remember,
There are birds outside, awakening everyday to fly and create nests, for their babies.
There are flowers, blooming, or getting ready to retire.
There are ants building colonies and bees creating kingdoms.
Trees giving the world life and blowing in the breeze.
So if you ever feel alone...
Remember,
Wolves still howl to the moon every night
And a child sees the break of dawn every day
The sun still rises and sets.
As does the moon.
So if you are ever feeling alone,
Remember that you have a beating heart.
A heart that continues to go on and on despite your struggles.
*** ***, *** ***.
It beats and it gives you life.
So if you ever feel alone,
Remember that you are not.

these are not monsters. there are no monsters here.
these feel like love, and when they enter you
they feel like something that was once missing is finally home.
how could monsters make such pretty girls?
such pretty girls,
such pretty skinny girls,
they look like the most glamorous parts of life. like everything
that is wonderful about being alive,
like diet cokes
and pictures of hip bones on a sunny, sandy day at the beach
here i am and all i’ve eaten for the past three days is my own fingernails
and these not monsters
can make you beautiful too.

you’ll learn to make jokes about why you’re cutting
the banana you brought for lunch
(and breakfast, and dinner)
into thirty-five pieces.
bringing the tiny pieces to your mouth from
folded napkin with exquisite fingers
to tentative tongue
and when the jokes become too unmanageable,
and taste too much like sustenance,
like letting go, like pleasure,
learn to put a stand hold to lunch,
forget what it means and
by the end of your senior year
you’ll know every spot in that school of yours
where no one will ask where your peers are
and why you look so tired,
and so sad


the not monsters
will tell you all their secrets.
you’ll learn that toothpick thin bones, when crushed
into ashes and stirred into
the twenty, thirty, forty glasses of water you planned on drinking today
taste like sweet, sweet lemonade
and you can drink it
for only the cost of the rest of your waking life spent praising
the feeling of emptiness
looking up number after number
and dead girl after number
you, too, can spend the rest
of your day smelling of what
you just had to flush down the
bathroom toilet.

go, they will tell you,
boney shaking hands, bottle cap wrists
make sure to memorize menus and all the lies you will have to tell
spend hours at the grocery store obsessing and counting
fifty
one hundred
two hundred
no more than three, of course
or else your thighs begin to blow up like the balloons
from all the parties you could never go to
you will learn to avoid celebration
because celebration means food
cake, chips, soda, foods you simply cannot consume
you will spend christmas day
dreaming about burying
your dissolving teeth into your knuckles and biting at your shirt
until your heart stops.

the not monsters
will feed you your first cigarette
and your second, and your tenth.
they will leave your once healthy and shiny hair
in a clump
on your pillowcase, just for you.
in your friends hand, while being braided.

and when your body gets too frail,
it starts to fall apart,
but where sick breaks skin
flowers will grow.
an entire garden will rise and grow
itself from your empty, malnourished stomach
rippling out your mouth and you’ll choke on the flowers
but you’ll be joyous
because at least you’re not consuming calories.
you’ll disintegrate
until you cannot be seen differently
from all the skeletons that are currently
living in your closet
don’t you just wish you could shrink
don’t you wish you could have that control
don’t you just wish you could make nobody know about this
because they just don't get why you’d do this
you don’t get why you’d do this
you’re so so smart but you just googled
how many calories are in mouth wash
the pretty girls
pretty skinny girls
pretty dying girls
pretty dead girls
the parasite can be restrained but it cannot not destroyed.
but it does not even matter.
it’s a beautiful thing to be made of porcelain. to be fragile. delicate. beautiful.
the picture of your hip bones at the beach was worth it.