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450 · Jun 2016
Meg Jun 2016
i fell in love with a beautiful lie
when what i really needed was the ugly truth
but no one ever asks for that

so then why do your lips taste like
431 · Jun 2016
What are you so afraid of?
Meg Jun 2016
Getting worse
People finding out
The pity
The sugar-coated lies
The "oh, she fought so hard"
The "she just did this for attention"
The "I had no idea she was so weak and fragile"
Waking up every morning
Going to bed every night
Being alone with my thoughts
Never being able to stop
Gaining weight
Breaking down
Going crazy
How easy it would be
My weaknesses
My thoughts
I just want it to end. And the irony is, I'm scared of that too.
428 · Aug 2015
said and done
Meg Aug 2015
Like most days
I spent my time pondering
And I thought...
In the end,
When all is
Said and done,
Will I have
More than I have
Just a thought that crossed my mind.
420 · Nov 2016
little girls are bonfires
Meg Nov 2016
dear little girls,

who taught you to open your legs before opening your mouth?
who taught you that the only use for a woman's lips is anything other than speaking her mind?
who taught you that women who say "leave me alone" are worth less than those who say "yes, daddy"?
who taught you that the fire behind your eyes should be snuffed out?

Those people are the worst teachers who little girls like you are learning the most from.
I say, look those people in the face and say "*******."

That flame behind those fierce eyes of yours?
If it will set the world ablaze, I say let it.
I say let gasoline fall like rain.
I say dance in the ashes of the world that thought it was fireproof.
I say
394 · Nov 2016
pretty or dying
Meg Nov 2016
someone once told me
no one cares unless you're

but it scares me
how often those two overlap
379 · May 2016
Meg May 2016
instead of dragging
a knife across my wrist,
i grab a pen,
hoping that
maybe the ink
will seep into my skin
and **** me anyway
If you ever see me with ink all over my skin but I say I'm okay, I'm lying.
368 · Mar 2017
siren song of anorexia
Meg Mar 2017
i know it all too well
what sounded at first like the sweet promise of freedom when sung like a breathy ballad tell me what does your siren song sound like? mine sounds like everything i've  ever wanted, like dreams come true. i lived my life in search of warmth and light but i didn't realize that house fires seem a lot like warmth and light when you don't know any better. i spent my life throat choking on smoke, eyes watering, lungs starving, flesh burning, and thinking that i had finally been warm is this what it's supposed to feel like? i tell myself it isnt suffocating me, i just can't catch my breath around them, they take my breath away. i cannot hear the siren alarm in my ears to get out, it only sounds like fireworks, and the heat feels like passion. there is no safety in the tongues of burnished white-hot flames like fraudulent deception masquerading as miracles no, no, it is so much more than that.
364 · Dec 2015
Meg Dec 2015
Let's call a *****
A *****,
Shall we?
Let's stop
The games
The deception
The lies
The could haves
       should haves
       would haves
Let's stop the pretending
The façades
The false promises
Let's tell the truth
For once,
Shall we?
Just a suggestion :)
352 · Oct 2016
yesterday's fingernails
Meg Oct 2016
in magazines
they show you everything you've always wanted:
a trim waist, a thigh gap, perhaps.

how odd -
they must've forgotten to put in
the empty stomachs containing
nothing but yesterday's fingernails.

it must've slipped their minds to publish the
dissolving teeth,
or the protruding bones,
or the skeletal ribcages.

i wonder what photoshop they use
to airbrush away
the harsh angles of needle-thin bones
and the spidery veins pulsing faintly beneath translucent skin
and the "no thanks, i already ate,"
and the "i'm fine, i swear."

it's almost funny -
i can't even tell when i'm hungry or not anymore.
almost funny, that is.
343 · Nov 2016
Meg Nov 2016
every night
i check under my bed
for monsters
but never my mirror
329 · Nov 2016
"asking for it"
Meg Nov 2016
i'm sorry, since when was my shoulder an invitation?
since when were my shorts a request?
since when did anything but my mouth spell out the word "yes"?
since when did "no" mean "yes"?
since when did wearing shorts make me desperate,
but isn't that what you were begging for?
you say i'm a **** for showing my shoulders,
but isn't that what you wanted in the first place?
it's when the guidance counselor says,
"well, what were you wearing?"
that you should know there is a problem.
Did I ******* stutter?
327 · Nov 2016
ghost stories
Meg Nov 2016
i spend my time
reading ghost stories
and seeing myself in them.
my every footstep becomes a graveyard,
my every word a tombstone,
and I am now the ghost who haunts them.
it's fun to visit a haunted house
once, maybe twice
but no one wants to live there.
if ringing my doorbell is a joke,
then my love is only the punch line
317 · Nov 2016
Meg Nov 2016
i swallow my pride like maggots
in cocoons of silence,
and when they turn into butterflies
fluttering in my stomach
i want to *****
but he steals them from my throat
and tacks their wings to his wall
308 · Feb 2018
Fire Escape
Meg Feb 2018
He will not come dressed in a red cape and horns, no, it is so much more than that. He will masquerade as everything you’ve ever wanted. Deception is the name of the game and he knows exactly what he is doing.
Little girls who play with fire get their fingers burned and I’m still picking the soot out from underneath my fingernails.
You see, it is easy to mistake the flames for light when you don’t know any better.
Things that promise light seldom go unheard, and he isn’t any different. It sounds a little less like a fire alarm, a little more like a siren song.
And though he sets your heart ablaze, he will fill your lungs with smoke, I promise you. That is not what they mean when they say he takes your breath away.
Boys like him will only starve all of the oxygen from the room and leave you choking.
He will lick the kerosene from your palms and tell you it will quell the flames.
And he will make you believe that this is what it feels like to finally be warm.
But there is no safety in the tongues of burnished flame.
Don’t let your dignity go up in smoke.
They say fire and gunpowder do not sleep together…
Darling, be the gunpowder.
Where there is smoke, there is always fire.
Darling, he is the fire.
So follow it back to him.
After all, he is the one who started it
Darling, finish it.
Rise from the ashes of the one who thought he was fireproof all along.
300 · Nov 2016
Meg Nov 2016
why does everyone say
that we must try to love each other
by overcoming our differences?
we should love each other,
not in spite of our differences,
but because of them
298 · May 2017
adventure girl
Meg May 2017
Remember the adventure girl you used to be?
The girl who lived in the woods on weekends and only came home for dinner? (But never on time)
The girl with flowers in her hair and a smile on her face?
The girl who believed she could control the wind and the sea?
The girl with scabbed knees and blonde bangs and curls?
The tree climber?
The blow-a-dandelion-and-make-a-wish girl?
The girl who jumped in mud puddles and didn't think twice that her skirt was *****?
The play-pretend cloud-watcher?
The girl who wanted to fly?
I wonder where she is now and if she would like me.
293 · Nov 2015
Meg Nov 2015
You asked me what was wrong
If I was okay
I just looked at you with broken eyes
A broken smile
A broken heart
A broken soul
And I didn't have to say a word
That was answer enough
285 · Apr 2017
s p a c e
Meg Apr 2017
isn't it funny how a woman's worth is dependent on how little she exists? "lose weight, take up less space, shut your mouth, stay out of sight until we want to use you" we become shadows, we become all the places the light doesn't quite touch, we become translucent whispers of what could have been
279 · Nov 2016
Meg Nov 2016
if depression = darkness
i'm no longer afraid of the dark,
but perhaps that's part of the problem
276 · May 2016
Meg May 2016
i wonder.
if i stand in the rain
for long enough,
will it wash away
my identity?
274 · Jun 2016
wishful thinking
Meg Jun 2016
The main reason I haven't killed myself yet is that if I do,
no one will know all the thoughts and ideas and dreams I've had.
No one will know exactly how my mind works.
No one will know that I think my ceiling fan looks kind of like the moon
or that I use ink across my wrist instead of a blade
or that I am utterly puzzled by the universe and its secrets
or all of the questions that plague my mind when sleep deprivation has stolen my inhibitions.
My mind and all its complex mysteries would completely vanish from the world the second I
swallowed one too many pills
or made the last slash in my skin
or let gravity take me
or finally pulled the trigger.
That is the only reason I have held on so long.
It's almost as if I can pretend I matter in this world.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
268 · Feb 2016
Meg Feb 2016
you stole
my breath away,
the one
i didn't even know
i was holding
265 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
In a world where playing dead is safer than speaking up, I rise.
I rise.
264 · Apr 2016
uncertain skies
Meg Apr 2016
the sky
powers of
the ever-droll
last performances
of certainty -
or so they would like to think
This was a blackout poem I wrote using a newspaper. More likely to come.
256 · Jan 2017
Meg Jan 2017
i miss make-believe raindrop races on window panes down the highway.
i miss puddle jumping in dirt roads.
i miss muddy sunflower boots.
i miss hiding giggles behind daisy patches during hide-and-seek.
i miss scraped knees and climbing trees.
i miss forest picnics by the river.
i miss jumping from porches, believing i was invincible, even after breaking my wrist.
i miss feeling magical and powerful and important.
247 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Why do your lips taste like fools’ gold
246 · Apr 2017
Meg Apr 2017
you smell like gun smoke and
i can see the shotgun you're holding behind your back and
i guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them
Meg May 2017
They don't tell you you won't be able to walk down the street without holding your keys between clenched-knuckle fists
That the man on the train whose breath smells like whiskey and desperation will smile at you like a prize at the fair
That eye contact is "permission"
That your outfit speaks louder than your voice
That no matter what you say it won't matter because your skirt length has already confessed to the crime
That fighting for equality is equated to hysterical misandry
That not shaving your legs for a week is essentially social suicide
That you will be accused of plagiarism over and over because "there's no way YOU could have written this"
That girls who refuse to smile when they're told are "*******" but girls who do are "asking for it" (oh and girls who look over but don't smile are "teases")
That your mouth is useless unless he's the one putting something in it
That "you know boys won't like you if you don't stop with that feminism crap" who the **** asked you? If "that feminist crap" prevents me from getting a boy to like me, how could I POSSIBLY go on with my life, right? I wouldn't want to be near someone who frowns upon my right as a human being, let alone date them so no I don't give a **** and no I won't stop with "that feminist crap" and yes
I do kiss my mother with this mouth, not that you'd ever find out for yourself
226 · Feb 2017
Meg Feb 2017
Sometimes it's more than enough to live and not want to live but to keep on living.
Give yourself some credit <3
223 · Feb 2017
Meg Feb 2017
There's a kind of surreality that comes with depression. I used to hate that word - depression. I used to be afraid of it, as if naming my nightmare would make it more real. I've become accustomed to its manipulation, now - the way its self-hatred coils inside you, the way its fear winds itself around each of your ribs, the way it twines against your collarbones and strangles you and steals your breath, the way it makes a home of your body by becoming your body, by becoming you.
Your parents always warn you about strangers, but what if the stranger is you?
214 · Jul 2016
Meg Jul 2016
i just want to cry,
throw something,
anything but this ****** numbness
210 · May 2016
Meg May 2016
in the end it never matters
*it all hurts the same
182 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
poetry drips off of your tongue like honey
I wonder if you kiss me will I be able to taste it
maybe then i’ll have some honey too
175 · Aug 2017
Meg Aug 2017
He built a wall
But honey don't you know that fallen walls become bridges
155 · Feb 2018
paint the town red
Meg Feb 2018
and honey you know they could paint the town red with the blood they lick from our palms
152 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
You must clip your dead ends if you want to grow
And honey I ain’t just talking about hair
136 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
I might as well change my name to Secondhand Smoke. Nothing more than roadkill. Not a tragedy: an eyesore.
133 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
And I wonder how many calories are in the flesh of the inside of my cheeks
127 · Feb 2018
almost bilingual
Meg Feb 2018
Is my second language.
I try to speak in the tongues of the greats:
World leaders, activists, rebels.
I attempt to curl my tongue around the foreign syllables of Self-assurance,
Too heavy to dictate with the proper connotations.
You see, I am still learning this language.
I conjugate with firm handshakes,
Pronounce with eye contact,
Communicate with poise...
Some of the time.
You see, I am not yet fluent in this vocabulary,
Cannot articulate with precision my identity.
I hear the echoes of voices rolling consonants and vowels off their lips like a hymn:
Some people have spoken it since birth,
Have merely acquired it.
Others, like me, have had to work for it,
Have had to force our mouths into alien configurations,
Into abstract lingual shapes, learning how to speak the way a fawn learns to walk:
Gawkily and with a resigned unfamiliarity.
My native tongue cannot enunciate all of the curves and straight edges of Fearlessness,
But ******* does it try.
My voice’s inflection is heavily accented with uncertainty;
Anyone who hears me knows that confidence is not my first language.
But that does not mean that my voice will break on the bones of my past mistakes.
It does not mean I cannot speak the words without my chin up, eyes unblinking, voice unwavering, as un-fluent as it may be.
It does not mean that my accented second language is any less correct than your first.
I am training my mouth to say “no” in a different language,
To say “no” with my mouth closed.
Letters drip off of my tongue like honey but not half as sweet.
But who dictates verbalization?
Who decides that my speech is too broken to accommodate coherent oration
I ask you:
is this soapbox sermon any less fluent than our history textbooks?
Is my broken English any less multifaceted than yours?
I will tell you
My lack of coherent eloquence is no less worthy of my lungs than of yours.
125 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Spinning your lies into gold
121 · Feb 2018
glass grenade
Meg Feb 2018
I am told I must be loved as if it is dangerous to drop me, but I cannot decide if I am glass or a grenade.
Maybe both.
106 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
I’ve been biting my tongue for so long that blood is dripping down my chin
105 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
And what am I if not collateral damage
95 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Whoever said nothing dries sooner than a tear must have never had their heart broken
93 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Honey don’t you know that conscience makes cowards of us all but so does ignorance
92 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
When I look at you I see women’s flesh that you wear like animal pelts from another victorious conquest and I wonder whose face you will wear next and I wonder if it will be mine
91 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Don’t eulogize me before my body’s even cold
90 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
And boy when you grow into your predatory grin you will know I was right
89 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
Boys taught to equate harassment to flirtation grow into men with flesh-eating hands
78 · Feb 2018
Meg Feb 2018
I wonder what language they will write my obituary in

— The End —