it's one of the scariest feelings-
   realizing you're still okay with dying

and it's like no matter what you do
or what you say or what you think
all you can focus on is
   how your throat is closing
   how your hands are shaking
   how your eyes burn from the eyeliner bleeding and
   how your reflection is getting more and more hideous

and more bitter, too.

and even when you think you have it all figured out,
   you'll still get pulled down on to that couch
   and you'll still lay there in the morning, unable to get up
   and you'll still do mindless tasks until it's time to get back in bed.

tired isn't just what you feel,
   it's what you are.

and you'll never know the energy it takes
   to smile and laugh

and truly mean it.

she didn't actually want to leave,
but there's a point where the decision has to be made:
is it more worth it to
   try harder or
   let go?
and in her moment of clouded confidence
she made a choice.

and she let him go.

and that strong arm around my shoulders is all too familiar.

i was with you again last night, and i wonder if you even know about it.  you asked me how i've been, you smiled a little bit, even though i'm sure it hurts to see me after months of not even speaking.

do you know that we were together last night?  are you dreaming the same things as I am?  those cement stairs up to your room were no different, and my backpack was heavy with books and cans of diet coke.

almost every night we have these secret meetings that sometimes even i don't know about.  we make small talk, ask all the required 'how've you been's and 'how's the family's and, of course, the 'are you happy now's.  while i can't recall your responses or how we spent the rest of the night, i can perfectly hear your laugh and feel your hand on the nape of my neck.

when i wake up, i feel bad that i left you alone in the dream.  but then again, maybe you were the one who woke up.  maybe all those times i wake in the middle of the night are just times when you had to leave the dream to roll over in bed, or your dog scratched on your door.

maybe you don't even dream about me.  maybe i'm uncovering these memories as i sleep and can't help but replay them over and over again.  

either way, i hope you dream a good one tonight, kid.

sometimes i think
i must be the monster under everyone's bed,
hiding in everyone's closet.

but then i realize
i'm just a girl sitting alone on her bed,
wishing on orion and
waiting to fall asleep.

and the strangest part is
it feels like tonight's the night
but I know, deep down in my bones
that tonight is most definitely
   not the night

--

days are spent wishing for more time
hoping for new beginnings
yearning to feel skin stretched over thin bones

my days are spent
feeling spent

--

she refused to take the pills
   they made her body ache
and so
   she sits, staring into the portable sun
   on her desk of toppling memories

--

her muscles can't seem to burn enough
she trains for her war, she's getting ready
   to live her life
but she isn't feeling the pain
   where the **** is the pain

--

her veins are still too small,
her ribcage crooked,
her crossbite visible,
her dimples deep.

her collarbone shows,
her sweatshirts hang loose,
her toes are purple,
her head still bobs side to side
   when she gets lost in a song.

she is as she was
and she is as she will always be.

i want to cut off my hair.
if you knew me better, you'd know this is
something i would never truly want.

i want to tell her to stop living with
her head perched over the toilet
and the shower running-
she doesn't want me to hear her insides coming out.

i want to create murals
in between the creases of my fingers
with the absence of paranoia,
with the absence of fear that mom will cry
or search me every time i'm home.

i want to run away.

i want to tell my dearest friends
that i wish i could drop twenty
disgusting, sweaty, hideous pounds
from my already average figure-
i can't even tell them about what happened
with him.

i want to hug my dad.
i want to hug my dad without him worrying
that his little pumpkin girl has issues,
or that he didn't try hard enough,
or that he wasn't there to stop me from
letting myself become this.

i want to be less of a disappointment
to those i care about.

i want to cut off my hair.