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Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
Mother,
I am scared.
Life is cruel
And unfair.

I want to escape
This world of hate.
To lessons and dates
I fall astray.

Mother,
Please,
I cannot commit.
Not in this world
That I wish to exist.

I want to go
To the Neverland.
To fly so high
With Peter Pan.

But Mother,
I beg,
Don't leave me alone.
I am old,
I know,
But young in the soul.

For a mature thought
Is locking my heart,

I wish to feel the way I did at the start.
This poem is based on the psychological disorder entitled 'Peter Pan Syndrome'. I wanted to shed light on this topic as it is important to understand the struggles of 'adulting'. Please do enjoy and always be kind!
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
The light,
It caves into me.

Chirping birds
And buzzing bees.

I feel free
Of sickness,
Sadness,
To the highest of degree.

The light brighter
Than the sunshine we see.

My joy
Taller than the tallest tree.

Yet it still grows,
Up it goes,
As it perches behind me.

As I sit
Beneath the meadows
Of yellow,
With children bellowing
Sweet melodies
Around me.

I believe
And receive,
Life's joy through my body.

I am in light,
And full of delight,

That this is what life can truly be.
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
The feeling of neutral,
Is bleak and bland.

For I cannot fathom
This life of random.
This feeling of doom,

It is present
Yet seldom.

It is static
And paralytic.

I feel erratic.

Yet I am calm,
Content.

But my mind,
Unresponsive,
Perhaps braindead.

My sanity,
Decreased
To the thinnest thread.

As this feeling of neutral,
Has emptied my head.
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
Red
Cease
And release me.
The fire
Burns freely.

Eating me
Slowly.
Fists open the
Walls of my sanity.

Hot,
And heavy.
Breath rapid yet steady.

It hasn’t left me,
Internally,
Destroying me quickly.

For you,
Do not notice.

But only when you do,
I am a monstrosity.
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
Resistance,
It is all I know.
Forks and spoons
Are all for show.

My taste buds,
Numbing.
My senses,
Succumbing.

To bitter truth
Of my body,
Crumbling.

My stomach,
Rumbling.

This is torture and divine,
All at the same time.

For I am blind,
And my body is weak.
Crawling with little energy,
For no meal shall I eat.

I will wait and see,
Who finds me,
In front of my reflection.

For sustenance,
I welcome rejection.
My body,
Now filled with injection.

For you mention,
That I
Am a section
Of what I used to be.

Leaving me
To feel like rotten meat.
But you,
Scolded my body.

Isn't this what you wanted to see?
This poem is all about eating disorders and how other people can contribute to low self-esteem within ourselves. It is always important to uplift others, as everyone is beautiful no matter size or shape!
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
The world is spinning,
But I lay still.
Wrapping in thoughts
I wish to ****.

I question
And wonder,
Of a life
Given so sad,
And sombre.

'Why bother'?
I ask,
For fate
Has flaws.
Dark dreary days,
As the night calls.

For I feel it all.
Of my body,
In agony.
My anatomy,
It falls.
Yet so statically
It stalls.

Death is my father,
And I,
His daughter.
We bond like no other,
Thinking of each other.

My soul,
Punctured.
My heart,
Ruptured.
May life encourage me instead?

For my body is alive,
But my mind is dead.

As the world is spinning,
All becomes dreary.
Consumed in thoughts,
That finally **** me.
This poem is very depressing and has mentions of suicidal ideations so please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics! I just want to spread complete awareness to this reality.
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
These little monsters
Follow me around.
I need to run,
Outrun them now.

They run miles,
But never slow down.
Living in my head
Until I am dead.

Shall they follow me
To the grave?
Six feet under,
But there they lay.

Would they
Still have life,
If I am to die?
Would they still speak whispers
Into my mind?

For they are infested
Into mine.

But what am I thinking?
My enemy is me.
I am unkind to myself,
Left my senses to flee.

They are just a small
Depiction of myself.

For I am not them,
Nor anyone else.
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