I hate how I feel so unlistened to at times
Yet sometimes I'm so focused on being listened to
That I don't listen to others

It's the alcohol
It's the medication
It's my sleep schedule

It's my coping mechanisms
My habits
My thought processes

It's just me.
Myself.
And these.

I can't write when I want to
Only when I need to

I want to be tiny

Tinier than my bones will let me
But still, I've tried

And even after knowing this
Try again sometimes in anxious times

When I'm having trouble finding happiness within me
I think maybe, a little less of me will make me happy

So I skip the meals, feel the butterflies when I see that number go down

Then look in the mirror maybe a week later and notice
I miss certain parts of me being fuller

Find myself even less attractive without them being that way than I did feeling "too chubby"

I've come to the conclusion that my body is not the problem

It's my brain

It will always find something wrong

Though I came to this conclusion years ago, it has taken me this long to refuse to give it what it wants

And just give my body what it's begging for

I refuse to ever use starving myself as a shortcut to "happiness" ever again.

I'm stronger than you think, you know.

I will bloom despite the snow.

I don't want to write poetry anymore
I don't want to feel the need to
I just want to be me without feeling the need to explain myself  (mostly for myself since nobody knows I have this site)

hell now is a place that once tasted a lot like heaven
I'm burning up in rays I once basked in