The day I met Ana
Is the day I died.
They day I met Ana
I thought I would survive.
20 pounds to go.
To look like a pro
Ten pounds to go
Are my bones starting to show.
500 the first
400 the next
The calories went down like the fat on my chest.
I started to feel dizzy.
Empty inside.
I started to feel happy
Thinner with more pride.
One bone here.
Another bone there.
My heart was stopping.
It couldn't be more clear.
But Ana loves me.
She'll never stray.
No matter how many go,
I know she's here to stay.
It might cost me health.
It might cost me my life.
But id rather die than be fat.
Skinny is my dream tonight.

I joined a website that
promotes Pro-Ana
and now I
can't get
off.

Classics in Art, Music, Literature
live beyond temporal limits.
Touching chords when seen and heard,
on canvass, in melodies, with written words.

They can be young and fresh,
or ancient and frayed.
With messages and stories
ringing true through every Age.

They transcend places
and march boldly through time.
Still relevant,
Still beautiful,
Eternally sublime.

~~~

You want your hair pulled
and your *** smacked
and some ***** talk
for pleasure...
that's some
serious
******* pleasure.

when i was younger i realized i couldn't swim deeper into the pool
I was curious
I wanted to know what was there

when i was 14 i realized i wanted to swim in you
in your mind
in your heart

Then i realized, how much curiosity hurts
And the deeper i got

I could taste your salty taste in my mouth
Instead of having the water all around me
It was you, your hands, your body...

when i was 14
I realized you were drowning me

to the girl who wrote me asking
me for advice at four o'clock in the
morning when her brain was high
off of an ashy heart: stop
******* around with toxins, and
no, i don't mean the drugs
turning your life into
unwholesome chaos. i mean
your ******* friends who told
you that
your problems are nothing
your demons are nothing
you are nothing. stop
it. you're better than
them.

to the friend who asked
for advice on how to turn
herself into a walking
skeleton: get over
yourself. anorexia and
bulimia will not fill
some hole in your tragic
past, they will ravage everything
good in you until you
are nothing but the flesh
you have despised. do
not ask me how to "become
an anorexic" because all you
are asking me is how
to die.

to the boy who i have
dedicated so many poems
to: god, you are so oblivious
to everything. to the soulless
"i love you"s spoken out of
pity, to the feigned grins, to
the fact that you are ripping
me apart. i was always told
to not love someone
who was sad because they would
drag me to the pit of the ocean
with them, and i should
have listened. there isn't
enough of me left
to share.

If you comment on one of my poems.
thank you.
If I don't reply to your comment,
I'm not snide
or ignoring it.
Sometimes,
certain comments are just too kind.
I don't know if you've noticed,
but I just don't know how to deal with that.

I appreciate any and all comments,
but sometimes, if I don't reply,
It's not that I don't want too,
I just.
can't.
I don't know how to respond to things like that.
So,
thank you.
and I apologize.

I write for no one.
My cadence and rhyme,
My similes and metaphors,
My free verse and sonnets,
My poetry is not for you.

I write for no one.
My word painted masterpieces
Of lyrical brilliance
With balanced tone depth
And rich hues of experience
Are not on display for you.

I write for no one.
My sidewalk art is not for sale.
My music scores are private.
My dance moves are copyrighted.
And no one can make me share.

I write for no one.
But I reserve the right to be...
Contradictory.

I write for that little ******* the slide
Who is wearing denim overall shorts
Because it's 1991 and that's what people do.

I write because she had a dream
Once of being loud and obnoxious,
And I'd like to support her dream.

I write for that teenager
Riding her skateboard at midnight in A-town,
Because it's 2001 and she's got nothing better to do.

I write because she made a plea
Twice with me,
And I'd like to save her if I can.

I write for that college graduate
Who sits in the crowd, proud,
Because it's 2010 and people got some living to do.

I write because she lost a bet
And needed a way out of being muzzled,
So I agreed to be her voice.

I write for no one.
I write for me.

And to this day
Not much has changed
I've grown a lot
But I'm still the same

From first breath
And first sight
I have these battles
I've had to fight

16 lifetimes
One more day
Bring back good memories
Bad to fade away

Once a year
On that same night
I will drown in fear
But strive with might