Let's talk about suicide.
Nasty word-
Isn't it?
So gross
But I feel it controlling me
And pushing the blood through my veins

We hate to talk about it
When it happens,
We speak of it only
Over cups of coffee
A muttered secret to a close friend
Words spilling out of our mouths like ****

So.
Gross.

So gross, in fact
That when I was twelve years old
And took the amount of pills I thought necessary to end a life
I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother to take me to the hospital
And instead lay awake
Terrified of what was going to happen
Until I went upstairs
Shoved a toothbrush down my throat
And spewed ***** that tasted of tylenol extra-strength
Of hopes gone and lost
Of secrets never to be told
Of a little girl scared of what was going to come next.

My mom never found out
Because it was

So.
Gross.

And even now
Years later
When I'm walking down a flight of stairs
Steep enough to snap a neck
I have to pause
And say to myself
"No, Diana. Not today.
You still have things to do."
And sometimes, it's really hard
Because I don't have anything left to do
I'm tired and sick and fat and useless
And I wish I wasn't here
I have no friends no family
Nothing left to speak of
Just a numb throbbing in my head

When it's really bad, I ask myself what would happen if I had died that day
The answer scares me.

So.
Gross.

Is that gross?
Yes, it's repulsive, I agree.
But you know what?
I lived. I'm still here, even if I don't want to be
And I still wake up and get dressed
I still cover my scars with jewelry and makeup
I still hold the pills in my hand
And stand at the stairs and say

"Not today, Diana.
You still have things to do."

when they pull up to the stop
i am the last to get on
i sit in the front, with a good view
of the street
(i know the route by heart)
turn left at ryan road and
pass the old run down convenience store
broken and unwanted, like,
a mole on a hand-model's finger,
or perhaps me;
did you know that they all wave at each other?
the bus drivers, i mean
when they pass on the road
nothing meaningful, just
a quick wave of the hand
i see you there
doing what i'm doing
hey, buddy, why'd we pick this job
anyway?
there's a kid behind me who always kicks my chair
and the blonde ******* my left
glares at me from above
a paper-back romance novel
i try to smile, but
i don't think she wants to be my friend
(she laughed at me last year
from across the plastic cafeteria floor
and called me a witch
if i recall correctly)
when we pull up to the school
i pull out my phone
and pretend to be texting
(i don't even have a plan;
the phone's for music)
so that they all get out before me;
once i pushed ahead of a boy
in a snapback and sweatpants
and i think that's just about the bravest thing
someone from the front of the school bus
has ever done.

why the **** would you
even pretend to care
after all of that?

there's a gap between your front teeth and between
your visions and plans and reality
holes in your personality, waiting to be filled up
and i wonder
what will become of you?

i am sexually attracted to pencils.

Toss me into the ocean (my boat already capsized, then turtled. ****, what a summer.)

Aim a gun at my head (once, there was a guy who robbed some store with an unidentified weapon, and he lived on our street, and hid in my yard, and men with guns were everywhere looking for him.)

Run your knife down my skin (I'm a recovering cutter.)

Take the people I love away from me ( SIX MONTHS OLD AND HE'S DEAD)

Break a promise (he never came back; he never visited)

Drug me (they tossed pills at me to make me numb, make me happy, keep me sane)

Cram me into the confines of your basement (I layed perfectly still for about an hour to see if my brain was o.k.)

Bury me alive (when I was little my mom, and my brother, and me would horse around and I would end up under too many blankets and pillows and I couldn't breathe)

**** me (I almost did it myself.)

Do your worst- I've done mine.

r.c.

Counting calories, telling lies
She'll keep this up until she dies.
Empty eyes, empty stomach, empty heart, empty mind;
What I've become is enough to drive myself mad
Empty, empty, empty. I'm nothing but sad.
So here it is girls, the rumors were true
I try so hard to be as skinny as you.
A monster, A *******, empty, empty girl;
I'm killing myself with my poor mental health.
Starving for beauty, beauty is pain
My head hurts so bad, I'm going insane.
Clutching my ribs, my thighs caving in
They were right--
Anorexia wins.

You've broken my heart,

You've made me cry,

I should be bitter (Shouldn't I?)

But I'm still alive,

And I've realized,

You'll never be less,

In my eyes.



When you ask,

Why you're still alive,

I'll answer with,

"Because you shouldn't die"



You'll change your ways,

But not for long,

I'll ask you why,

and you'll ramble on,

about how you feel,

and with a tear in my eye,

I'll say,

"Enough! Please!

Don't make me cry!"



You'll try to change,

Yet once again,

But you'll grab that bin,

Wanting to be thin,

You'll cry out,

Ana wins.



I'll come back,

I won't give up hope,

I know somehow,

Maybe, you'll cope,

Maybe, someday, you'll make it through,

Because I can't, without you.



I know you still have it,

That urge,

To grab the blade,

I know it's a feeling,

You'll never evade.



But if I could tell you one thing,

Dear,

It would be,

Do not fear.

The Lord will help you,

And so will I,

So do not cry,

Dry your eyes.

I have a best friend, a sister really,

So I wrote her this poem, it's nothing silly,

If you knew her you'd know,

She's really pretty,

I mean really, abnormally,

But she doesn't believe it,

She asks why doesn't that size fit,

But I wish she could see,

that she is perfect the way she was made to be.