Chloe's Not An Angel: Favorites

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

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Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Miranda

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its strange to hold shame for such things:
desire, hunger, pain, my name,

having a body that holds a brain

observations

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Sometimes

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Hannah Larson

Sometimes

Sometimes I wish I were pretty enough to turn heads.
Sometimes I feel like I'm never going to achieve anything in my life.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm really cut out for marriage and motherhood.
Sometimes I vow that I'm not going to eat at all for a long time or become bulimic so I can lose the disgustingness that is me. Then I forget and break my vow and it makes me appalled at myself.
Sometimes I wish I had a better memory. Actually, I always do.

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Not Quite Sick

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

pixels

Not Quite Sick

I binge on poems:
Poems about broken glass
And broken people.

I allow myself
A missed meal,
A forgotten snack.

How innocuous,
The blissfully ignorant
Rumble of my stomach.

But I don't starve,
Oh no-
I was a puker.

My greed takes over
In the haze of smoke
And the smell of his cologne.

I'm fine,
I'm fine,
I'm fine.

I'm too fat
To be sick,
Really.

thoughts only make sense when they are poems.

#eatingdisorder #anorexia #bulimia #ed #relapse #anorexic #bulimic #relapsing #relapsed

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

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Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Willow Branche

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I'm crumbling again.
I can feel it.
I need contact.
Human contact.
This urge to feel and be felt.
No matter how hard.
How soft.
How painful.
How pleasureful.
This craving.
This emptiness.
It can not be filled.

#love #sad #depression #evil #food #*** #anorexia #bulimia #anorexic #bulimic

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

My poetry sucks

Sep 2014 Chloe's Not An Angel

Jack

My poetry *****

My poetry *****

I’m so tired of writing

My fingers are sore

My poetry *****

I’m becoming a bore

Sticking a verse

In front of your face

Oozing with love

All over the place

Creamsicle colors

Metaphors thick

Wasting your time

Making you sick

Finding a title

Spending the time

Just like this poem

Something to rhyme

Or it could be free-verse…

Drifting on metallic clouds in copper spoons

dreaming in patterns of silhouette shadows

and my foot falls asleep

Maybe a Senryu

Read at your own risk

Dumb crap being written here

***** bags needed

Perhaps a Haiku

Softly floats the bird

Atop morning glory skies

**** thing **** on me

Or a Tanka, a Sonnet

A Villanelle or an Assterring

The last one is nothing

I made up the **** thing

So you see I’m no poet

Least not anymore

For what you are seeing

Is what you abhor

And I’m not complaining

Not here on this screen

My pen is on empty

I’m ready to leave

I’m so tired of writing

My fingers are sore

My poetry *****

I’m becoming a bore