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  Feb 23 Aspen S
Morning caresses my lips
With a squalid kiss -- the taste of last
Night’s stale liquor, a greeting most
Usual and unwelcome all the same.
Sated beyond means, I still am
Stricken by thirst, dry lips parting in
Consternation, heavy hands
Fumble aimlessly for old reliable, that
****** bottle of advil that may as well
Have its name etched in my dresser drawer
The morning after may be ripe with regret,
Hazy recollections draped in uncertainties --
But at least one thing remains surefire and
Constant --

Thump -- clank
My head, the door, my achy feet
Taking their first apprehensive steps
Into their habitual walk of shame
The mirror salutes me with the
Visage of a woman worn, tired and wildly aged --
There’s no way we’re the same person
Or are we?
Aspen S Feb 8
i cannot seem to forget
the smallness i had become.
bruised thighs
and sunken eyes
were my reality;
my skin was devoid of
any nutrients,
fragile and delicate.
i could vanish
into nothingness
like quicksand.

my days bled into
one another,
fingers frozen,
heart barely beating,
lungs hardly breathing.
i stared down the
barrel of the gun,
wished to purge my urges,
sat in an endlessly deep
pool of misery until
drowning was all i could do.

i replaced food with air,
consuming empty calories
and dug knives into
my skin as a personal hobby.

i am an open would
that never heals,
and i am desperate
to move on.
a poem on my eating disorder. i thought i had come far only to relapse within a year. here's to starting over.
Aspen S Mar 2021
i have been swallowed by
my own reflection;
bones protrude through
pallid thin skin,
organs caving in
my stomach hoards a
swarm of bees,
buzzing through the
empty cavern that is
my translucent flesh.

i am a ravenous dog
teeth bearing,
devouring only water and air

i purge myself clean,
spill out empty calories
and irrational rumination,
skeleton hanging out of
a hollow casket,
appetite smaller than my waist.

i am freezing cold,
lanugo littering my body,
wanting to throw myself
in a fire,
to feel the warmth
that others feel.

i am a void -
this body is not my own.
on having an eating disorder.
  Mar 2021 Aspen S
My worst is faced with disassociation, questioning my own sanity, looking in the mirror whilst listening to the softness. Though, disassociation breaks those boundaries, It’s weird. I don’t want or feel comfortable with defining it and at my best, I don’t care to. At my best I embrace the stares as simple acts, the finger pointing as fascination but at the same time, I’m living in my innocent normality which shifts internally and in my choice - privately, your eyes should do the same.
  Dec 2020 Aspen S
hold me. i demand it. tenderly.
splay your fingers the long of my spine atop my shirt,
press your chest to mine and caress caress caress me.
clutch at my hips and let your fingertips
leave bruises to prove you were there.
nip at my lips, my cheeks and *******.
lap hungrily, dig your tongue into tender flesh.
drag your mouth over mine,
over and over and over and over.
i want to taste myself more than anything.
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