you get one day to cry
but tomorrow
it’s time to fix your crown

my heart woke me sobbing last night
“what can I do?” I asked shakily
and my heart whispered
“write the book.”

Mental illness is like burning paper in the daylight.
You can hardly see the flame, but the pages disappear.

i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.

whenever i'm not eating
she whispers softly in my ear
sweet encouragements
when i'm finally happy
eating and starting to look healthy
i can see my bones starting
to be covered with soft fat
her screams start to get louder
i try hard to ignore her
"you look disgusting"
"look at all that extra skin
hanging off of you"
"you're so fat lose it all again"
you can tell me i'm beautiful
but i can't hear you over
her deafening shrieks
convincing me that i've lost again