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Jordan Frances May 2015
The first time I met remission
She was the warmth of a lover's arms
A stream of sunlight amid the fog
A snowflake in the desert.

The first time I met remission
Was the first time I sat in health class
And talked about dieting
Without feeling like the target
Nor the antithesis
Of the conversation.

The first time I met remission
I no longer felt like the "fat girl"
I embraced the fact
That fat was not a synonym
To my worst fears.
Fat not ugly
Fat not worthless
Fat still beautiful
Fat always beautiful

The first time I met remission
I knew exactly who she was
As these were not conscious thoughts
That I had the ability to switch off
Just as my bulimia
Did not function as a series of buttons I could control
At least not in the throes of it.

The second time I met remission
I felt my knees hit the bathroom tiles
My spine broke into the floor
But I was physically sick
And I did not get flashes of memory
Of the glamour and horror
In which my disorder used to manifest itself
Daily.

I continue to meet remission
I talk to her on a regular basis.
She showed up a year and a half into my recovery.
She is the guardian angel
I never knew I needed.

I continue to meet remission
She reminds my that even this
Is not the end.
She tells me that even the chapter of my life
Characterized by binging and purging
Characterized by acting inhumane
Characterized by hating myself
Is like ash in the water now.
She reminds me
That just because one chapter was unbecoming
My story isn't over yet.
Jordan Frances May 2015
In 2002
Christina Aguilera released a single called
"Beautiful."
Do you remember how revolutionary those words
"I am beautiful
No matter what they say
And words can't bring me dow-own"
Seemed to be?
Well, it still seems visionary
As to many
I am only as beautiful
As a man says I am.
Only reduced to pretty face
Only reduced to **** body
Only reduced to nothing.
My mouth
Do they call that beautiful?
Only if the paint spilling from it
Comes in the shades "sorry" and "yes"
Because rewind to the time I was sixteen
And two men at my job deemed it fit
To tell me explicitly what they would do to my body
In front of a room full of customers.
So I told them exactly what my fist would do to their face
And penalized for it.
They said I was rude
They said that while it was vile
It was not my place to fight back.
Well, I am fighting back right now!
To not be reduced to pretty face
To **** body
To nothing.
My mouth
My mind
My heart
Is beautiful
No matter what they say
Even if they tell me to say nothing
At all.
Jordan Frances May 2015
I see my reflection in your teeth
Between cracked lips
My body reflects off of the most violent part of you
That you use everyday.
I try to pry myself from your skin
Your stench saturates my sanity
I cannot look at myself the same way
I cannot look at you at all.

You continue, to chew & chew
And I continue, to wash & wash

Violently trying to cleanse myself of you.

Breaking down is not so hard to do
As I spiral into some sort of psychosis
Disillusion is the ultimate form of madness
Because you just keep spinning
Until you hit the ground
Unaware of the fact
you are even broken.

I wear your conquests like a chain around my neck
i.
The first time you violated my body
ii.
The time I told, embarrassed of myself, and for what?
iii.
The time I thought I had let go, but still could not stop tearing my up mind
iv.
The times I lost sleep because I feared you would find me

I hate you
I don't.
I hate you
I make excuses for you
I hate you
I hate me.

You taught me things I must consciously forget to remember
You remind me of things I must consciously remember to forget
As you chew, rip, tear at my skin
And my beating heart
I hope your teeth crack with every bite.
Jordan Frances Apr 2015
i.
"I do not support war
                                 in any context."
My father told me making blanket statements such as this
                     is foolish and naive.
   No one will ever take me seriously
sometimes war is necessary.
                    
No.
The pacifist in my bones
             hates bloodshed
                       hates       violence.
The recovering self mutilator in my chest
              was only okay with it
                    if it was directed
                                                                                                 at myself.
War removes
                                   flesh and bone
                                   blood and life
                                   love and hope.
It makes it impossible even to live in the world
even to be able to
                                       breathe.

ii.
"People can coexist
                 once prejudices are eradicated."
Father calls this
                  "liberal propaganda"
   He'd rather bask in his ignorance
Listen to Fox News
                                                 Where all his "facts" are spat at him
By old white dudes and
                        coined hot blondes.
Freddie Gray did not need to die
                                                        Michael Brown did not need to bleed
                             Eric Garner was merely trying to
                                                    breathe.

iii.
"Anxiety isn't just
                                
stress."
My mother tells me in the midst of the storm
                                                                       That it is not even
                                                            raining.
She continues to hammer the belief
                     into my brain
that if I would stop stressing myself out
                                                     *I would be okay.

Mom,
                                                                             I'm not alright.
Mom,
                                                                             I seldom get sleep at night.
Mom,                                                              
                                                                             I can't hold on much longer.
Mom,
                                                                             I can't even
                                      breathe.

iv.
"You feel depression everywhere."
                                  This one is true
in part.
Sometimes,
                                                                             depression is a freight train,
bruising your sickly lungs
smashing your broken heart
pressing a knife into your back
                                                                                                       and twisting.
But other times,
                                                                           depression is the absence of
                                                                                                            all feeling
And that
                                                                                                     is all you feel.
                                                         the remainder of the knife in the back
                                                         the shatter pieces of your broken heart
                                                         the shriveled up portions of your lungs
leaving you constricted so tightly
you find yourself struggling to
                                              breathe.

v.
"When I fall,
                     I fall hard."
I sit on the suede couch
                                                                                   in my shrink's office.
We try to gather the scattered bones
                                                                       I lost after falling off the wagon
                                           yet again.
Relapse will never stop *******,                                  not because of the behavior
               but because of how much faith you lose
                                                                                                         in yourself.
Questions flood your body's once stable floor
                                               How could I let this happen?
   &nb
Jordan Frances Apr 2015
Anxious hand
Stop shaking.
They can hear it rattling in your bones
All the broken pieces of your soul
Clanging together
Like chimes in the wind.

Nervous heart
Stop beating.
I want you to move
Only less.
Make me remember the times you beat
Because I was excited
The times I was able to feel something
Before this disease took me hostage.

Twisted mind
Stop falling.
The trap is holding you in it's talons
Like a wounded child
You cannot fight the claws
Attempting to grind you into bits.
You are sick
But they only see
Your clutter.

Broken body
Stop fighting.
When you try to resist the disorder
This dysfunction
This conqueror
You only hurt the very one
You have been trying to save.
Jordan Frances Apr 2015
I loved you the way
Samson loved Delilah
Foolishly.
I loved you the way
Aphrodite loved Adonis
Sensually.
I loved you fatally
Lustrously
Beautifully
Brokenly.
I loved you the way
A rose loves it's thorn
Too tender to the touch.
I loved you the way
I loved no one else
And that was far too much.
Jordan Frances Apr 2015
When you see his mother
You remember.
You remember the fear in your eyes
Terrified at the thought of being *****.
You remember the trembling in your voice
For the times he sent earthquakes through your body.
You remember the efforts it took to restore your soul
You were not an easy fix.
You took more time that he gave you
When he had his way with you
A child.
He got his way with a lot of things
He got his way when you were too fearful to take him to court
He got his way when he left no trace of evidence behind
He got his way when your father refused to see him again
But when you see his mother,
Roses in your hair
All dressed in black
Teardrops stain your cheeks like thumbprints
Pressed hard against your face.
You are not dressed for her, no
But for her brother
But for your grandfather.
When you see his mother
The damage he has done to her is comparable
To the damage he has done to you.
She cannot walk out the door
Without knowing her son is a child molester.
You cannot walk out the door
Without feeling guilty for what you have done to her.
It wasn't your fault, what happened to you
But in an odd way
You believe what happened to her
Was.
So together, synchronized
You paste on a face
You put yourself together
Opposite sides of the East Coast
Yet so in tune.
When you see his mother,
You forget yourself for a moment
As a river of guilt gushes out of your soul
You want to run
To, from, with her
You cannot escape.
To, from, with her
Your guilt lies.
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