Pretty petty perfection,
Looking at my reflection,
Wishing for any form of validation
That my suffering means something.
My body burning, aching
From last nights purging.
Oh how much worse it could have been.
Going out of my way to seek attention
That I  desperately need
While not wanting it at the same time.
People judge,
But they do not see.
They don't see what's behind the suffering.
They don't see the burning
All over my body.
They do not see me crying myself to sleep every night.
They don't see me holding on to everyone tight,
In hopes that maybe they won't leave
Maybe it's a way of feeling better about myself,
To see how well I can hide so much pain,
But it's better to hide the mess in a closet
To appear clean

The obsession you have with the size of your hips.
They should be smaller,
Don't you think?
Oh, and be sure to do whatever it takes to have that thigh gap.
It's so worth it.
That thigh gap.
The more space the better.
The emptiness of your body.
The jutting collar bones.
Feeling dizzy.
Feeling depressed.
Worth every inch lost off your waist.
It is worth your once full and lushious hair now falling out like dead leaves.
Because you're dying.
You are killing yourself.
But it's all fine.
You're obsessed with telling yourself that it's all under control.
Isn't it?
Theres no sleep at night.
Not when your anxiety is this intense.
Not when your up planning how to skip the rest of the weeks meals.
Use that time to be productive.
Like right now.
Lying awake... obsessing.
Obsessing.
Obsessing.
But it's s all fine, right?
Because that thigh gap.
And bony fingers.
You're deliriously falling over every **** time you stand, and you think it's all still fine now?
You think it's still worth it?
Isn't it?

Love comes like a crashing force,
invading your heart,
like the shores of a beach,
then leaves like the evening tide,
taking away your joy,
replacing it with emptiness.

i walk around my kitchen
at half past one in the morning
sipping on water in silence
as my parents are sound asleep.
why am i not sleeping, too?
i’m restless,
i can’t bring myself to settle down.
maybe i’m anticipating your call,
which will never come
or your knock at my door,
which will never happen,
and yet i keep myself awake
hoping you will be the first to say
i’m sorry