The bruise on my knee formed this afternoon
As I slept by the fireplace
I woke and found it there, large and yellowing
Startled, I wondered not why it was there but when it would leave
Why have I attracted so many bruises?
My thighs, knees, shins covered in brown, yellow, green, purple spots, some little and deep, others expansive, without borders
Was the bruise of my flesh worth your pleasure?
Will I ever have a true answer to my questions?
Why don't you miss me like I miss you?

Why stay silent
Didn't you like it
Are you once again impartial to me?
Despondency does not look good on you
Your return to the dispassionate turns me away
Is that on purpose
A conclusion I draw, you don't miss me
Until I stand tall from my position in the
Desperate Kingdom of Love
And leave
Not to return

I dream of giving up college and graduate school.
I dream of dropping out.
I dream of writing ferociously.
I dream of typing and scribbling and never ending my sentences
I dream of leaving copies of my speech hidden in different places
I dream of leaving something behind
I dream of living in the woods and letting my brain devour itself

Think of all I would think.

A boy told me recently that if I hadn't gone through all the **** I have, maybe he wouldn't have found me- the girl I am as intriguing. Maybe he wouldn't want to understand me like he does if I hadn't gone through so much ****. Maybe I wouldn't be who I am, was his message, more clearly.
Maybe I wouldn't be who I am...but maybe I would be happy. Maybe being neurotypical and healthy wouldn't make me who I am...but I cannot imagine it could be all that bad.

I have traumas surrounding eating disorders and death.
I have diagnosed anorexia nervosa.
Anxiety.
Depression.
I am a survivor.

Life sometimes haunts me, and I can't allow another person to haunt me too. What makes you think you can handle me?
Because I'm pretty tall, because I'm thinner than the average woman, because I'm tan, because I'm blonde, because I have round hips but a flat stomach, because I'm a ***** bisexual, because I work out, because I have long black eyelashes, because I have straight white teeth?

Or is it because you like how I treat people, you like that I will stand up for others, you like that I sing songs, you like that I love deeply and strongly, you like that I read, that I am smart, that I love to learn, that I am perpetually curious, because I have a passion for working with children and being a nanny, because I paint, because I love music and my family, because I want to travel, because I spend nights crying under moonlight writing, because I am bilingual, because I push myself, because I expect myself to create beautiful art and learn all that I possibly can, because I wear what I want and say what I believe?

What is it?

How can you claim to be falling for me when you can't be sure you know what you're falling for?

How can I be falling for you when I don't know if you have the capacity in your heart for me?

I think I could love you eventually.

At what point
Do i cease to exist
Is it within my own control
If i take myself away
If i waste until my departure
It is better or worse
Does it matter in the end
Does it really matter at all

Is it true
Are they all lying and lemmings
Is it helpful
It must be
If they exist like that
and I like this

I’ve been let down
I’ve been pushed around
And i've learned to stand taller than before
And i've learned to **** in
To envelope everything inside me
Collect it
Bury and dispose

At what point do I feel a release
Of any kind


ef

How much can one lose at the attainment of another's hand? What faces do we see? Within the mirror, sincerity. Beyond, a blind mask. Promises of sacred words and worships, falling short is our resort. Speak free, speak wildly, but please obey once more. A gate, a window, a match drawn across the floor. For there is nothing here for you, perhaps there is nothing at all. Think before you act. If you must act, do so swiftly. In all things are innocent fragments. You are a face of this world. Your bed is still warm.

me/Elizabeth Fisher

Past events which fractured minds have been instructed to follow through upon, the graces and derelicts, seasons past, adventures of then- tell me which person possesses what beauty. The sin or length of faith, the feelings of before or the moment after, what is lust if it is explained? What day do cheekbones rescind their style and collect age? Who is to find something new in a place forgotten? What dance do we use with our movements so quick? There are misplaced footsteps strewn from one destination to the next. Pray we might to find a sweet, mighty place to rest.

Elizabeth Fisher