did you notice the
glimmer in my eyes

you story-teller
and fake
says she knows
how to read my face

you must've seen
the way I wanted to
rip your skin apart

or did you take
it as
I love you with all my heart

you shallow
dull
simple-minded
girl

all you do is try to
guess someone's else
thoughts

have you sorted out
yourself

It's the night before an exam,
And the rhymes and rhythms,
are screaming in my head,
as the mountain of rejected paper,
grows around me.
Because as I try to voice,
my horrors and hatreds,
my love and life,
politically and emotionally,
all I can think about is that,
at thirteen I was scrawling,
pretty patterns across my skin,
and using my blood as the paint,
                                                          ­      how messed up is that?

The thing about privilege,
Is that it is not our fault,
Like our biological ***, our name, our lot in life,
It's handed to us the moment we're born,
Wired in DNA and red strings of fate,
Strings that form a safety net for one and a noose for the next.

It's our advantage,
Head starts while the rest have handicaps,
But this advantage against the disadvantaged,
It makes us lose our vantage point,
It's not our fault, it was handed to us on a gold platter,
And it's our job to make the changes,
That make the world fair.

Dealt the tattslotto number of existence,
Our road smoothed down,
The right race, the right gender,
Right religion, the right neighbourhood,
Things we didn't fight for and disregard,
Diss and say is too hard.

But the only race that should matter is the one of life,
And helping those who fell behind, forced behind,
And to help them cross the finish line,
I don't want to stand on the mountain top alone,
Join me up here, together with free flowing air,
And if you can't make it on your own,
It's our privilege to help you there.

I am here,
Voice railing against the edge.
I spread arms through air,
Fingers trail in open streams,
and I am here.

Green light filters,
Life spreads brightly,
Happy burns sharp and warm,
Laughter bubbles in my throat.

And the song bursts from my lungs,
Running through park and down busy road,
I am free, I am alive.
Today,
I am here.

I used to **** my stomach in,
Till my lungs would ache and split,
Then I learned to pull my muscles up,
And I'd find a better fit.

I learnt from magazines,
and TV shows,
The things that told us,
To always shrink, to never grow.

I learnt from my mother and my sister,
Who would sit and pinch their thighs,
With a sigh and a shriek,
About needing to go down a size.

I became obsessed,
But not with food, wine, or shopping,
My obsession was with the fat under my skin,
Growing fast and never stopping.

I became obsessed with numbers,
Numbers even though I hated math,
People telling me to stop, to eat,
The voices in my head would clash.

I feared that I would grow,
But also I would shrink,
Fingers trailing gaunt on skin,
My madness slipping from the brink.

I feared that I wouldn't wake up,
The next morning, the next week,
But I couldn't stop myself from finding,
The skinny I'd always seek.

I'm not fat, I know I'm not,
And I know weight does not define me,
But I see the bone, I strive to see it more,
Without bone what would I be?