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Why do I not cry?
Tears are evidence of pain
You can't see my pain

So yes I do cry
You just do not look for pain
So you just see joy
Thought I'd give haikus a chance.... This is like my first one, please din't laugh
there are too many times when i feel alone.
i could be in a room surrounded by people
and not know a single one or rather
pretend i don’t know a single one
i worry about being a bother
am i annoying you yet sorry i’ll
stop
i’m lonely i’m alone i’m so sorry i’m alone i’mlonelyi’malonei’msosorryi’m–
okay. hi. who are you?
you are lonely too?
goodbye. see you soon.
The tears run down my face
The thoughts run through my head
The fear runs through my veins

My heart races
My feet run
My soul runs out

Running
I'm running

When will it end?
When will I stop running?
Do you even bother
To look for the signs?

I play my music louder
These days
I don't listen
For joy
But to drown
The world out

I'm never without long sleeves
These days
I don't wear them
For warmth
But to protect
My secrets

I feel ill more often
These days
I don't feel sick
Because of a physical illness
But a
Mental one

There are thousands of signs
That I am dying
Yet you never notice
Do you even bother to look?
The truth about my recovery?
I lied
I told the truth
I was better.
So much better
a different person
truly, really,
not the me that was dying to die a year previous.
for six years the monsters consumed me
It starts so subtle.
She’s skinnier.
‘No I’m on a diet’
‘I’m a size 0’
your best friend skips lunches.
slowly, surely, the monster slips into your head.
your nightmares are living
compulsions start.
too young.
don’t eat in front of people.
one granola bar will get you through practice until home.
and all the comments egging you on.
‘you aren’t skinny enough for that..’
‘but if you eat salad all summer’
Soon you can’t look at yourself.
Soon the Monster of self hatred turns you to more
because the diets aren’t enough
so spring break after a bowl of corn chips
you close the bathroom door
and the porcelain becomes your ally.
friends may know.
but you can be sneaky.
after all, how else would you manage your size?
Eventually it isn’t enough, you want quicker results.
And the monsters of self hatred are eating you up.
you’ve grown now of course.
pushed away friends who knew who wanted you to get help.
Because this Monster, This darkness in your mind,
your only friend.
No more food.
leave crumbs and a buttered kife.
anything eaten, behind the bathroom door.
And very soon
The blades come out to play.
So intriguing how easy it is.
and how simple to hide.
What an easy release.
17 and 110 lbs, covered in scars on her hips.
I did get help.
I went to therapy.
I loved it.
I didn’t just change these acts
I changed myself.
But I wasn’t better, I was anxious
to be done with it
to be set free.
So I stopped going.
when I wasn't totally ready.
I thought I was happy..
But is that why I relapsed?
It was only once.
But is that why I still find myself depressed?
Sometimes suicidal?
Is it my fault?
It’s usually my fault so I can see how it would be.
I lied.
That’s the truth.
And
I
Don’t
Know.

But I do know
this recovery is a continuous fight.
And I just wonder
Where am I now?
She'll wake up at noon and
Dread getting out of bed.
At one, she'll get up and
Pretend that she's "just tired".
At two, her stomach is begging
For food, but she's too fat to eat.
She'll work out at three for her
Dream body, but it's only bones.
Her mother will come home from
Work at four and say she looks sick.
Dad comes home at five and
He'll say that she needs some meat on her.
The smell of a well cooked meal will
Flood her nostrils at six. Her stomach growls.
At seven, she'll give in and eat
With her family, but only a little.
Her little brother calls her fat
At eight 'o' clock; it'll make her cry.
When everyone heads to bed at nine,
She'll sneak to the bathroom to throw up.
At ten, she'll go back to bed
And cry because she isn't good enough.
She'll get a text message at eleven,
And she'll hope it's from the boy she loves.
When she's getting bullied at midnight,
She'll cut her wrists to feel better.
At one in the morning, she'll sob
Into her pillow until her heart tears
On into two a.m.
At three, she'll lie awake,
Unable to cry anymore.
She'll try to bandage her
Too damaged wrists at four;
And at five, she'll realize
That she doesn't care anymore.
At six a.m., she'll find a pen
And paper to write a letter.
She'll cry so hard that she'll
Have to start over at seven.
A knock at the door, a reminder
For school, will startle her at eight.
She will make up an excuse at
Nine for why she needs to go in late.
Her mother will leave for work
At ten, and she'll place her note conveniently.
Her mother with receive a call from
The school at eleven, she'll rush home angrily.
She'll burst into her daughters room at
Noon to find her motionless; a minute too late.
please stop romancing cutting,
depression, eating disorders,
anxiety and suicidal thoughts.
those things are not beautiful.

it is not beautiful waking up
every morning wishing you
weren't here.

it is not beautiful having to wear
long sleeves in the summer to
cover up the scars on your arms.

it is not beautiful throwing up
in the toilet just so you don't
gain another pound.

it is not beautiful missing school
for a month just because you
couldn't drag yourself out of bed
to see daylight.

but you can be beautiful with
cuts and scars all over your body.

and you can be beautiful even though
you aren't too happy about your weight.

oh, and you're still beautiful if you haven't
socialized with people for a couple weeks.

and you're still beautiful even though you
blew out your 16th birthday candles wishing
you were dead.

you're beautiful, but the things that you have done to
your body aren't.
december is near.
blink your eyes,
december is here.
here come the platters piled high with
sins.
is this really "the most wonderful time of the year'?
god, it all
looks
so
good.
the whispers curl around my ears.
no. no.  fat. calories. crunches. jumping jacks. calories. fat. weight.
the holidays aren't about family.
this is war.
this is about self-control.
this is about my honor.
on goes the lip gloss, the too-big dresses
so nobody notices how fat i am.
"have you lost weight?"
stop making fun of me.
"aren't you going to eat?"
i'm nauseous. lies
i already ate. lies
i'm eating later. lies
don't touch me.
don't hug me.
don't speak to me.
surrounded by sins
calories
fat
bait for their traps.
*just one bite?
 Jun 2015 Jennifer Stewart
svdgrl
Gap
The spaces between their thighs
signified
the act of vomiting and starvation,
or just really good metabolism
a small appetite
genes
but
considering that their instagram
has no photos of food
but filled with selfies
of their thin legs donning patterns
maybe they have that problem.
But they are beautiful-
I suppose.
I draw them without clothes.
Confidence in a pose.
and I, with my curves,
wouldn't mind to appear like them,
sans *****.
So I eat
and I work.
And I stare in the mirror,
and see the tiniest space
right below my womanhood,
and muscles
closing in
I guess it's healthy,
just not thin.
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