You were the catalyst
for this relapse.

On one hand,
I can't stand you.
I want to set your stuff on fire
and scream-
oh god, I want to scream-
until you feel
what I feel.

On the other,
If I hated you that much,
I wouldn't be trying
this ******* hard
to fill the gap that you left.

I know, from where you’re at in this,
things seem bright.
He’s treating you well,
expressing that he ****** up;
it for sure won’t happen again.

He’s texting you “goodnight beautiful”
every night before he goes to bed.
He’s telling his friends that you’re his girl,
you’re spending time with his siblings.
He’s buying you things,
he’s spending time with you.

I know,
I’ve been there.

I plead that you realize that it won’t always be like this.

Soon he’ll start blowing you off,
no call,
no answer.
If he hasn't already, he’ll start lying about where he is,
who he’s with,
who the girl he was talking to was.
You might found out.

But don’t confront him about it, oh no.
It’ll be all your fault.
You’re crazy.
You drove him to it.
It never happened, why are you demonizing him?
Or he’ll cry and say that he ***** everything up
and you can’t leave him, too.

I know that things seem good now.
I’ve been there.
If you got out now,
you’d really be dodging a bullet.
Don’t be like me.
Please recognise you deserve better than him,
that he doesn’t deserve you in the slightest.
He cheated on you once,
you know he’ll do it again.

You won’t ever listen to me, though.
I didn’t listen when I was warned.
I’m just a crazy ex, you know?
Just like he’ll tell you all of them are.
Every
single
girl
he’s ever been with.

I miss singing along
to ****** pop songs,
riding around,
thinking we were going to last forever.

I miss your family,
your little siblings
climbing all over me,
them viewing us as a unit that would always be a part of their lives.

I miss the safety,
when you'd calm me down
after  panic attacks,
thinking nothing would ever hurt me as long as you were there.

I do not miss you.

Stop looking at his Facebook profile. Seeing his posts tears your heart open again, especially when they're about you. You know that he is not worth your time.
2. Eat more. You need the nourishment. The number on the scale does not matter to anyone but you. Who cares if you went up from 102 to 108? No one.
3. Love yourself. There is nothing poetic or beautiful about getting ******* alone in your bedroom and stumbling drunkenly to the bathroom to cut yourself open.
4. Teach people how to treat you. Explain your boundaries. If someone doesn't respect them, cut them the *******. They don't respect you.
5. Take more baths. It may force you to look at your naked body, but the warm water calms you down.
6. Do your ******* homework. It may not matter after high school, but it matters now.
7. Stop giving your heart to boys that won't even give your their time. He may claim to love you in the dark, but during the day you're just another **** to him.
8. Pursue that guy. Yeah, you might get hurt. But it'll be a lot of fun in the meantime.
9. Stop acting like you're above high school activities. You have a year and a half left, make the most of it. (Even if it's buying a poofy dress you'll never wear again and going to Snoball with your best friend.)
10. Buy more red lipstick. You feel like you can do anything when you wear it, and you deserve to feel like that all the time.

I couldn’t get out of bed today,
my homework from yesterday lays unfinished,
eyeliner smeared on my eyelids
because I couldn’t perk up the motivation
to even wash my face last night.
But, as I scroll down my Facebook newsfeed,
I wonder if I’m doing depression wrong.
Four statuses about how people “can’t take anymore,”
two selfies of themselves crying,
a picture of someone’s cuts.
Each post filled with supportive comments,
of how things with get better if they keep trying.

I used to weigh eighty pounds,
the enamel on my teeth is eroded
from heaving up the heaviness haunting me
every second after I ate.
I hear girls talking about how they “wish”
that they had an eating disorder
so boys will carry them around,
so they’ll have a thigh gap.
Every time it causes a relapse,
and I don’t feel as perfect as people say I should
when I’m laying in a hospital bed.

Though you may claim to be so depressed
because you failed your math test,
or to be completely anorexic
because you skipped lunch today,
this is not mental illness.
Mental illness is
lying to those who love you most
about when the last time you ate was,
wearing long sleeves in the summertime,
failing your favourite classes
because even thinking about all the work gave you panic attacks,
having to bring a list of medications you’ve been on to every doctor’s visit
and explaining what each of the awful side effects did to you.

If you want attention buy a puppy,
call your grandma,
hug your sibling for christ’s sake.
Mental illnesses are not identities to assume
whenever they benefit you.

There's no point in loving
or even liking
a girl like me.
A girl with gashes
on her thighs
and thin, white lines
up her arms;
who won't let you **** her
until you turn the lights off;
who you might lose
at the drop of a hat
because I'm not very good
at keeping myself alive.

i stuffed toilet paper into my underwear
without caring.
i flushed a little, lifeless body
down the drain.
it wasn't alive, anyway
i knew it was inside me
and carried on anyway.
being reckless
finally killed something.
you'd have gotten rid of it
i'm too young to be a mom.
my mom was exactly my age
when she had me
and look how I turned out.
i know people
that are trying desperately
to have children
and i didn't even cry
over mine.

I have this fantasy where I am driving on the interstate and I am not daydreaming about crashing my car and being killed on impact

I have this fantasy where I have never spent a whole summer covering up my scars

I have this fantasy where I know my body and I am at peace with it

I have this fantasy where I never stopped making art because of what a teacher said to me when I was seventeen

I have this fantasy where I know how to write good poetry

I have this fantasy where I have never fallen in love with too many drug addicts

I have this fantasy where I am sleeping with a stranger for fun and not because I hurt

I have this fantasy where someone knows all the best parts of me

I have this fantasy where someone knows all the worst parts of me

I have this fantasy where I can say “I love you” out loud instead of just writing it down

I have this fantasy where I am giving my whole self to somebody else and they are not asking me for more

leave him.
he is a worn-out version
of what once was

he is lukewarm
he squats in no man's land
he is not sure

he is the kitchen floor
after an exclusive dance party
at your friends apt.
where
like
only six people came
and you all drank mimosas
and danced and
the cat did something awkward
and you all laughed -so hard- and
you had such a ******* good time
and you drunkenly swore him off

he is a war-torn region
his heart
is a foxhole
his heart is not peaceful
it is in pieces
it bears teeth
he is
not a bad person
but you-with-him is
a bad mixture
it makes his heart-teeth gleam
he changes
he is different around you
the moon calls for him

he does not listen
he senses
he hears with his gut