By. Lauren

The smell of death has always been a 6th sense to me.
I do not know why but the second something I once held dear to my heart passes on I smell the smell.
A smell that's so nauseating I can hear it.
Hear its rumble.
Hear its beating on the no longer pumping heart.
Hear the smell.
The smell of rotting.
The smell that brings tears to my dull eyes.
The smell I've always seemed to recognize.
The smell of death.
The blunt reminder that they are gone.
Gone forever.
Gone like the smell.
The smell I feel trapped in.
The smell of death.
My 6th sense.

By. Lauren

* my voice echos *
I want to tell you a story.
A story that goes like this.
A story where my voice echoes over the bustling room.
A story where I can get real quiet when talking about sensitive topics.
A story that goes like this.
It all begins loud as I tell a violent tale of the girl that was hit last week by her boyfriend.
Then it seems to fade.
My voice fades into a bleak whisper as I tell the tale of two lovers one living with a mask over her face.
A tale of two fates.
Two worlds.
Two people that will never seem to cross paths no matter the story.
I want to tell you a story where I can tell the truth.
A story a lot like this.
A story of vulnerability.
I want to tell you a story.
A story that will help the world see the true me.
I guess I don't want to tell you a story at all.
I just want to tell you the truth.
I want to tell you my truth.
Time to start where it all began.
* my voice fades into a shallow whisper

By. Lauren

What's it like to wake up comfortable in your own skin?
No doubts of your beauty just ready for the day.
What's it like to not weigh yourself multiple times a day?
Calculating every gram that puts your astray from your Instagram model body.
What's it like to look good in anything you wear?
Not too big or tall.
Not too small or short.
Just perfect for everything.
I wish I had that beauty.
The kind where your skin glows even in the driest of seasons.
The kind where your legs are always soft no hair to shave.
What's it like to be perfect?
Perfect like you?

By. Lauren

My family has never seemed to get themselves weaned.
Not from the drugs.
Not from the alcohol.
Not from the smoking.
Not from the abuse.
Not even from the bleeding.
Year after year another resolution.
I will change they always seem to say.
Relapse after relapse they always seem to peruse.
We have never been weaned.
Learning our habits from one another not knowing that's what we should not do.
It's become our DNA.
Our flesh and blood.
Self-harm took me over too.
2 years of cutting watching the pain watching my blood go down the drain.
Yet another one not able to be weaned so soon.
Crying in the bathroom full of fears full of tremors full of hopelessness.
Yet another lost hope.
Life was useless to me
A dream I would never be able to see.
I couldn't be weaned.
Each night I tried to stop.
Just breathe and look at the ceiling.
Remaining yet another lost cause.
I never knew how small my room was until I was enclosed in the space that I couldn't escape.
I never knew how large my mind was until I was lost in all of its emptiness.
I couldn't be weaned.
Night after night memorizing my scars adding on to my collection.
It took 3 years without help to finally get here.
I just hope I can stay.
Hope I can change my DNA.
No more losing blood.
No more watching others struggle.
We all will be weaned.
Weaned of the drugs.
Of the alcohol.
Of the smoking.
Of the abuse.
And even the bleeding.

By. Lauren

Some days I wake up and wonder why I'm still alive.
I look in the mirror and the view of rotting flesh cascades over me.
My body is too fragile to be my own.
Breaking limbs and an unwilling soul.
”Why am I still here,” I ask my own self?
I do not want to leave my body.
But do I really want to leave this home in this body either?
My limbs seem to crack every step I take.
Societies pressure for me to be perfect is breaking me.
I don't understand why I am still here.
I am hung up in a world bigger than I'll ever know.
Just searching for an exit.
No more morning wonders.
Searching for a home I can call my own.
Both my body and I the residents comfortable in our own new home.

By. Lauren

Anorexia why must you return to me so soon?
I look in the mirror and see you now.
I thought you were gone.
Why must you come home?
My body was getting strong once more.
Feeling so happy again.
Then you came home.
My body knew no better but to let you back in.
You moved into the chemicals of my brain.
You changed me to satisfy yourself.
Anorexia I just want to be alone.
I once found a home in the foods I wanted to consume.
But now anorexia I can't seem to find a home in my own body.
You have eaten me raw.
All skin and bones no fat to call my home.
No room for a lover all that I can host is you.
You've made my body a structure I can not keep up.
A frame with no foundation.
Anorexia this is not who I'm meant to be.
You're not supposed to be.
Not with me.
We're not meant to be.
I know we once got along.
The two of us looking beautiful in that red dress.
The compliments we ate up as our only protein for the day.
"Oh you're so thin," they would say.
Anorexia I don't want to be with you anymore!
I feel like I'm breaking.
I'm sick of watching my weight.
5'2 and 40 pounds under.
Anorexia this is not how I'm supposed to be.
Just let me be.
Not you and me.
Just me.
Let ME be.

By. Lauren

I find myself missing the people I never seemed to know.
Not up to date on their name change
Yet I find myself craving them.
Craving their forgiveness for my cluelessness.
I wish I would've known better then.
I wish I would've listened better then.
Listened to what they were going through then.
But I'm afraid it's too late.
I made the mistake.
I wish I could've apologized to them.
If only I could go back to then.
Back to then when they were them.
Back to the time, I didn't comprehend them.
Back to a day, I could explain myself to them back then.
I guess this poem is as close as I'll ever get.
I feel sorry.
But I bet they've moved on from then.
I just wish I could apologize to them.