Know what I hate?
That feeling of disgust at myself
For eating a little more than usual
The happy-sadness for gaining 2 (needed) pounds
That tiny prodding in the back of my skull
Telling me to skip this so I don't gain a half pound
I need to eat, and love the different types of food
Sushi to curry to crawfish to funnel cakes
If its good, I'll eat it.
But I won't feel great about it.
I don't want to worry about it anymore
Stomach, please be quiet, you're not helping.
Brain, you too.
Friend, at least I've got this promise to keep.
That helps more than you know.
Plus I just really can't stand to throw up
Or not eat.
I hate this feeling.

drink me
An inconspicuous bottle smiles,
Full of tears and wishes
Hope and elvish light
A touch of shrinking powder
And this half of the mushroom
eat me*
Cries a pretty and sad iced cake
Baked with smiles and fear
Despair and dwarfish bread
A generous dollop of grow juice
And that half of the mushroom

Eat, drink, be merry,
And choose wisely.

I live my life in troughs and peaks
I write 2 papers and shoot off 6 emails in a freshly cleaned room
I let the dishes sit for a week and can’t get up til after noon

My period used to be like this before I started the pill
Sporadic and long (or short) and inconvenient and gut-wrenchingly guilty

I think about my 3 papers due next week and how I want to sketch up my traumas
Instead I open a new document and type this
I procrastinate productively sometimes I guess
This is a trough

My friend lives
With anemia and a stomach ucler
With the past of an alchoholic father and an abusive brother
With emotionally abusive ex-girlfriends
Who sometimes plays the butler
With a crammed-full-to-the-seams schedule
With a previous eating disorder and cutting
With the mind of a genius
With the heart of a saint
With the hands of an artist
With a bevy of friends, willing and eager to help
With freedom and a job
With with me, Wyatt, Julia, and Tom on the other end of the phone
Waiting for his call for help
But he is so quiet, pushed into a world of silence, dark, and miserable art
He shelters himself from all, and so we hover nearby
Searching for a crack in the walls of his dungeon, but all we find is a window
He holds the key, but does not yet realise it
So we coaxe and console and soothe, vocalising our concerns and aid
Reaching towards him to pull him away, to touch his heart with the
Hope that a gentle caress, a well placed sweet stroke of kindness may
Free him from his torment
But as of yet, we are still trying

This is comemmorative
Just a small poem to say
If poems written equaled
Years lived
Then I would be old
A century old
A hundred is so much
So many poems in three months
Or less
And now it seems so attainable
One fifth of my goal complete
And a single milestone passed
How quickly it's passed too

When you look at me what's the look I see in your eyes?
I see sadness but for who?
Your green eyes frighten yet melt me
Curioser and curioser
What else is there
Pity, jealousy, love, what?
I can't read your eyes, never could
All I can tell is there's something different
Something added or changed or missing
Whenever you look my way
What are you feeling?
Are you screaming or hiding?
I feel so confused and you won't talk to me
Tell me something clear
'Cause I can't read you

Maybe its just me
And my megalomania
My overblown ego
But I keep seeing and hearing
Faerie
Fairy
Fae
Fey
Everywhere I go
In chemistry: the conversion faerie
(She don't exist)
In lunch: the tooth fairies
(They might exist)
Everywhere: helpful faeries
(Of course they exist)
So is it just in my head, or are faeries creeping back?
Through the tangles of mental barriers
Near the frontmost of our subconsciouses
Maybe it's my nicknames becoming more prominent
Perhaps I'm just being silly
And maybe I'm simply pigheaded
But maybe it's true

A faerie is not a large creature
Yes, I get it, I'm tiny.
I'm glad you told me the obvious too
Me whose had this body
All my life
Why do you think I'm called
Faerie?
Pixie?
Shorty?
Elf?
Funsized?
Come on people!
Four foot eleven and ninety pounds
Is enormous for a fifteen year old

12/4/12
When the sky is crumbling
And your tears are falling
Under the blankets
Is the only safe haven.

12/6/12
Inhale and **** in all the evil
Exhale and breathe out all the good
Or is it the other way?

Falling into mortality
Rising from the ashes
Shedding off the cinders
And glowing coals of my rebirth
Scarlet fire feathers
Icy eyes of blues
My beauty, stunning, blinding
In both light and actual measure
My threat level, fatally high
But as easy as I ****, I nurture
As cruel as I am, I’m kind
As strong as I am, I’m gentle
I lift an infant as readily as I carve into flesh
And you’ve not seen kindness
Until you’ve seen me with the injured
Though as cruel and harsh as the oncoming storm,
I’ve got a soft spot for the lost and lonely
The wandering and dreamers
And if you think I’m an enigma
You should meet my friend,
The big bad wolf
3.7.13

I am afraid of aloneness
Being without someone or something
To talk to, to see and interact with

I am afraid of baring my heart and soul
And afraid of not doing so, both
Because I might not be understood

I am afraid of knives and glass, blades
And sharp with the thought that I may
Cut myself by accident, and enjoy it

I am afraid of friendship and love
And the lack thereof, as it causes
Pain and heartache and grief

I am afraid of the dark and the monster
Under the bed, simply because those childish
Stories may be true

I am afraid of loss and abandonment,
My lack of confidence and freedoms
That may restrict my possibilities

I am afraid to be afraid,
Because it will hold me back.

You are the sea in my mouth and storm in my ears,
pushing the warm dark clouds of night around me and rasping, fairly dragging your winds along my throat.
I am the earth beneath you, letting you knead and wind around me.
Swallowed into the endless galaxies and dark holes of your eyes,
You devour me, and my hunger grows the more you give me.
You, the forces of nature, and I, the waiting earth.
Nothing alike, and yet each complements the other, and you fill my dreams with emotion and solidity and distance.

They gave me the wrong address when I was sent to boarding school this year.
Maybe it was the receptionist’s scaly hands that shook a little when she wrote it out, or the skies pouring out their sorrows onto my head.
Nevertheless, I’ve definitely been at the wrong school.
The boy at the end of the hall is always playing with fire and smells of ash, dark cedar and benzene, but he’s never burnt himself once.
There’s a set of twins, upstairs in another dormitory, who always flood the bathrooms, and all their clothes smell vaguely of salt and mildew and pebbles, and I think I can almost see the ocean in their watery blue-green eyes.
On the rare occasion that I find myself wandering near the lake, I can’t help but feel watched, not from above or behind as would seem natural, but from below and ahead
All the first year students I know swear on their lives that the walls and stairs move to trick us, or bring us to our destination faster depending on one’s luck.
My rhetoric professor’s eyes droop and film over during lectures and he scarcely moves millimeter from his statuesque place at the podium; yet he never fails to catch the slightest indiscretion or misplaced gesture from a student.
Meanwhile, the choral director’s ears are said to be as pointed as her canines, and her hair to be of the deepest black and violet.
I’ve growing suspicions about the gardens in the back of the kitchen, all tangled over and wreathed in what seems to be an ancient species of briar, though I’ve never seen a rose bloom, nor the gardener cease from his endless pruning.
Sometimes, I’ll catch a glimpse of insect-and-birdlike creatures flitting around the windows, and the moths around here seem rather foreign, though I’m assured the difference in flora and clime requires differences in adaptations.
The older students oversee the halls with the kind of aloof confidence built from familiarity and practice, and laugh easily about missing articles of clothing or assignments, as though a mischievous spirit or creature had nicked it. They, too, seem to disappear around twelve o’clock, not to be seen again until tea time.
There’s a section of the library which seems to positively seethe with darkness and cold, and only the bravest and boldest dare ask for entry.
And oddly enough, after a rather jostling ride by rowboat to the gates at the beginning of the year, the headmaster greeted us all by name and only drew a blank once, at mine.

What can one give to a star?
They have all
Royalty, light, and reverence
A star's warm glow and smiling light
Of greatness, it has no need,
But stars get lonely.
So many millions of miles of empty vacuum
So I think to this Star I'll give a smile,
A thank you, and the great love of friendship

L--- is the thick, adrenaline-wrought catharsis of a summer rainstorm on the highway at night.
It's the ridiculously advantaged team in a game of dodgeball;
and the hail in March as you run from work to close your car's skylight;
and the wave that rakes your hair with the teeth of the sand and surf;
and the pebble on the downhill ***** that your bike trips over and you fly off, eyes wide and gracelessly flailing;
and L--- is the way you lose yourself in the cosmic threads of their eyes;
and the breath you forgot you were holding.

Friendship, is a thing for all to enjoy
It‘s a beautiful song full of laughter
But be careful with this supposed toy
Or there won’t be a happily ever after.

Love, is a mirror to hold close
To show you what lies in your own heart,
A picture in time for which to pose
And then that is to be torn apart.

Pain, is a kiss of knives to be felt
An ever-growing, body length scar
And an agony for which to cry and melt
As it drenches all that is good in the black of tar.

But as these three intermingle and you fall,
They fix the others, so it’s not so bad after all.

Lonely god
Sailing in your blue ship
Come and take a rest
Put your feet up for a moment
Grab some tea, and a banana
Then of course, dash away from this peace
Back into your wild exhilarating fray
Lonely man
Why all the adrenaline?
I think you fight and adventure thus
To escape your loneliness and sadness
The adrenaline rush just exists to distract
I think you search and wander
To gain vengeance on wicked evildoers
Because they stole your family and
Wrenched your hearts apart
But now picking up the fallen pieces
Pasting them back together
I think they gave you a motive, a purpose
And some extra strength
Your eyes burn with a fire
Irresistable to all
And fatal to some
But usually just a playful, longing spark
Only wanting the best for those you love
And trying your darndest
As you sail with no direction
But the ebb and flow of the tide
On the ocean of pain and trouble

Once I read a poem
Quite a long time ago
It wasn't especially happy
But it was also no tale of woe
Just a tired reminiscing of tomorrow
A future dreaming of sorts
Where one may freeze a dream
And melt it when you're old
Soaking your weary feet and relaxing
In the thawed memories of youth
In a world where one may
Freeze a dream
Perhaps they could bottle up my hopes
I'd store mine all in mason jars
And old liquor bottles
Then when I feel dark and down
I'd crack one open and drink up

So you've dared your girlfriend to write you a poem
Detailing why she loves you,
So what shall she write?
Perhaps that she imagines your kiss will be ambrosia to her,
And that she so easily trusts, and talks to you.
But the point of this poem is why she is in love with you
And so I think she'd say this;
I love you because you're so crazy, and different, and that's so right for you
I love you because you're so kind and sweet to me and other people
I love you because you've got awesome taste, in music and movies and the arts
You're a poet, artist, genius and I love you for it
I love you because you challenge me, and you appreciate intellect
I love you because you don't act excessively proud of what you've done, even though it's really great
I love you because you're quiet, unlike what I am most of the time
My list could go on for pages if I wanted, I've got so many reasons to love you
I love the way your hair covers your eyes
And when it gets ruffled up it's so cute, and reminds me of a flustered bird's feathers
I love how you use words and graphite to create beautiful art and gorgeous depictions
I love you, and pretty much everything about you
And you've got this sort of air, an aura one might say, about you
One that I can only describe as irresistable and curious, curious in both senses of the word
I love how you don't put me down, and are actually so supportive of me
I love how you comfort and understand me so quickly
I love you for talking me out of all sorts of depression, cutting, anorexic tendencies, and still loving me despite my craziness
I really truly thank you for that
You're an incredibly fantastic best friend and boyfriend,
I'm still so amazed at how I got lucky enough to get you, and that you feel the same
The only thing I don't love about you in this moment is that you aren't here
Because I miss you more than life right now
And I love you so much

Gifted
Gifted means nothing to people who do not know
I don’t even know the proper definition
Strange that I do not know a part of myself?
I think not.
C’est la vie – such is life
But why must only a few be burdened with this white elephant?
Yes, a white elephant
For although termed a gift, it comes with its own price
On my school’s website, on the gifted page, there is a file
This file, entitled, giftedness; a different kind of normal
Aptly named I think
The upsides? Exactly me.
The downsides? All perfectly describe me as well
My ‘gifted’ friends are just the same
Why is this a gift if it sets us back in our standardized culture?
Sure, I ace the tests, but I can’t start projects until last minute
All because of my perfectionist side
I am a ‘deep thinker’
But I hate deadlines because they limit the
Time I spend on a good, fascinating subject
I’m considered to have the ability to motivate people
But it always comes out bossy
I'm supposed to have high standards and expectations(which I do)
But these fail me when I cannot reach them myself
Causing insecurity
These traits and numerous others all belong to my kind, the 'gifted' kids
I've noticed we're all socially inept, awkward, clumsy
To some degree or another
And I suppose this analytically mindedness comes along with my plethora of troubles
I'm supposed to have many interests, and this is true
But it also prevents me from knowing exactly what I want
I'm supposed to be very focused, detail oriented
But I cannot stand the slightest disturbance
These gifts are deemed part of the 'gifted' personality
Why can't I be normal for a change?
Being gifted really singles you out
Such a small group of us in my school
Almost all are best friends
As no one can understand us better than others just like ourselves
But why can't everyone be gifted?

What's a girl with a face to you anyway?
Just another human with the curse of curves?
Someone to be the heroine to your heroics?
A girl you won't write songs about?
Most definitely not the only exception
The liquor to make you love drunk
The one to tell you 'give me love'
Who will say 'kiss me' but only to be loved
Not necessarily a girl to be your everything
Just the one to follow your lightning with thunder
A girl who hoped you see two is better than one
She doesn't want to be a secret valentine
It won't take long for her to fall for you
Cause everyone knows most boys like girls
And she'll take a rocket to the moon
Just to hear a secondhand serenade from you
Don't let me fall and I'll be that girl for you
But not just a girl with a face

Hold tight to me golden butterflies
Don't let me slip
Because even though your namesake element is as heavy as lead
I'm trusting you to carry me out of this pit
So my own wings have room enough to soar

Wrap your arms around me silver angels
Don't let me break
Because even though your name will tarnish and weaken like an old necklace
I need you to hold my pieces together
To fit my jigsaw back into a whole
So I can walk on my own again

Little butterflies
Heal my scars
Protect me from myself
Fly over them
Flutter gently in place
And stop me with your beauty
With just a beat of your wings
Colorful angels
Spread a golden balm
To salve the wounds
Of my heart
Of my mind
Of my self

Once upon a time, long long ago
And angel and a demon met
Both assigned to work on earth
To follow respective fates.
Once the jobs were done,
Both missions fin, complete
They set back to rest their feet
And bask in the setting sun.
At least the angel did.
The demon, here you see,
Was a serpent, or so they say
And of feet he had none.
A flaming sword was missing
But ah, what else was new?
They waited, talking until dawn
And then off the angel flew
They now had new missions,
Which sometimes conflicted
But tell me honestly,
What else would you have predicted?
So through the millenia they worked
The demon and the angel.
The angel shone, the demon lurked
But not as well as before
And through the years that passed them by
They began to form a bond, unheard of in all lore.
Though one a sinner, one a saint
Both found they truly had
A friend in enemy lines, and wondered;
Was it really truly so bad?
Though forces of good and evil,
They had some common ground
Of the Father and the Devil
No easy master was to be found.
This demon and this angel,
Though as different as could be
Were assigned the same mission
And it became clear to see
No longer could they fight
No longer could they be friends
They must form a new alliance
One to last beyond the end.
And it was plain to see
This was a good omen

Can you feel the love in this air?
Warm and enveloping with soft arms
Friendly smiling clouds of affection.
And not just any old piece of love
No, these ethereal spirits that drift
They are the five greek loves.
*agapi, storgi, xenophilia, eros, and phileo

Green and blue are my absolute favorite colors
I don't have one
And the reasons, are quite hard to explain
Although I hate the sea, it stands
In the line of reasons
And though I despise ice and icicles
I love blue
Algae on the side of pools
I could live without
But I adore green
Lush mossy bright olive and dark green
And cool clear dark and thick sea blue

I've always loved jeans and grass
Summer's thick vegetation
And blue graphic t-shirts
The old and ugly baby blanket with green squares
Made for me by my great grandmother
The blue I once wished my hair was
The green I still wish my eyes were
Blues of pigeons, blue jays, faeries, and dragons
Greens of wood elves and magic, words and life

As for fire, well who doesn't love it?
The flickering, dancing swaying of flames
The bright reds oranges blues and white yellows
The heat and pain
A life and magic of its own
And that love's emotion is a fire
The fire living in a tiger's coat and the sun
Flashes of firey emotion in the eye
And flames of the excitement and energy
That drive me to be and be who I am
And fire, fire is
Life death feeling and emotion

In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless

Hello again love
Welcome back to my heart
You're so familiar
But you feel different this time
Like an old friend in a new time
A bit softer and warmer in feel
But met with harder and colder feelings
A little more giving and embracing
But met with eager thirst
And hungry greediness
I'm hesitant to accept you
If only because I hurt
And have been hurt
And will be hurt
But you want to change that this time
You're the same
But you're different
I think I love you better now

Here be dragons all old maps say
Here be dragons: beware, go'way
Noble knights and brave crusaders:
All steer clear and take detour
But whose to say these fearsome beasts
These terrible monsters of lore,
Who declared that these gentle giants
Live only to create gore
They may be misspoken for
And probably misunderstood
They could be timid gentile folk
Who dine on aether and fish
But nevermind the possibilities
Here be dragons: go'way, beware

Is a true hero one like Superman?
Name spread across the front page
Bold symbol blazoned across his chest
Or maybe a hero is like Batman
Operating in the shadows
Name barely dared whispered by evildoers
On the off chance he'll appear.
Perhaps a heroine is like Oracle
Helping from behind the scenes
Relaying crucial information
Maybe Daredevil is,
Defeating personal as well as social
Obsctacles, physical and mental
But no, I think a true hero is brave
Or kind or welcoming or even
Small-scale rebel or revolutionary
And needs no emblem shot into the skies
Needs no great ceremony of recognition
Or semblance of public thanks
Just a smile, or the thought that
A life has been changed for the better.

That may be so,
But you'd best not forget
That English provides worlds.
These worlds are ones math and science
Simply cannot provide.
Please, tell me the last time you were brought to a completely different universe
Without ever leaving the room?
Good friend, explain how numbers and facts
Compare to the beauty of English and writing.
The smooth flow of words
That entrance everyone that hears,
Is more than facts and numbers could ever provide.
You say math and science are the basis of life,
And that may be true,
But tell me one thing:
If math and science are more important than English and writing,
Why do you bother with poems and reading?
Apparently it has some value to you,
For you continue to write poems and read books
That are otherwise fictional.
It's important to everyone you see,
Even the ones that refuse anything that isn't factual.
Without it, how would you record your discoveries? your equations?
Understand this, good friend,
For without this beautiful subject,
Communication is next to impossible.
We'd all be lost,
Don't deny it.
Without it, humankind is nothing.
Nothing but apes waiting for a story to be told.

I'm a hunk of flesh
A few pieces of calcium deftly placed
Tubes, fluids, electricity
Gasses, elemental compounds and chemicals
I sound more like a science project
Than a person
Grey sponge in a skeletal bowl
Completes the blueprint
This is **** sapiens

I've never liked hospital room flowers
Their plastic, chemical smell mixed with the scent of disinfectant
Fake yellow, greens, pinks and whites
All the colors of pastel
No reds or blues, why's there never blue?
Sometimes they come with squeaky foil balloons
Brightly touting phrases like, "get well soon!"
And "we miss you!"
Cheerfully shouting the words to eternity
To everyone, but no one listens
But what's the purpose of flowers?
All they've ever done to me is cause depression
They stare you down as they slowly droop and decay
Wilting, they seem as if to say, "look, look at us"
"Like us, you are dying, slouching, falling into mortality"
Then when their rank water is cast aside
Soggy limp flowers and leaves tossed in trash
You're sickened by the task, rub your hands in disgust
Feeling as slimy as the cold ooze on the stems
What's the purpose of hospital flowers?
I've never liked them
All they've ever done to me is cause depression

I am an onion.
Peel me.
Cry, too, through the smiles and grief and tight resistance to vulnerability that are held out to you.
Wonder at the resilient fragility of each syn-propanethial-S-oxide drowning layer.
Let me **** forward and grab you, in my death.
Hold our faces close, inhale your breath and roughly slip back.
Gently husk away the dull layers of dermis and cradle the papery lairs that fall faster and faster as I relax
rigor-less, into your arm,
and fall
and fall
and fall
apart.

Red lines appear as
I pull this silver blade through flesh
Blood dripping, oozing from the cut
Red valleys and redder rivers
Scarlet is the only paint I know
Allowing, of course, for silver
A lovely edging, with a dangerously
Wicked edge
Then you add fire
Flames of scarlet orange and yello
Licking, touching, brushing the edges
Lightly trailing against the surface of meat
Burning, cooking, melting
Delicious
This fire burns so deep it sears
It melts the very fat, hidden beneath
And then it's over
It's done, finished, complete
No more flames
But the blades are back
Slicing up the scorched flesh
Anyone fancy some steak?

I need something light and cheerful
To remind of the beauty and good
Soo I will write about crayons, under-rated, and butterflies
And roses, over-rated, and friends
And love, simply confusing, and puppies
And soft furry squishy warm pretty lovely good-smelling things.
Oh yeah, and faeries and their mischievous pixie cousins

I fear the silence
Not the warm enveloping smiles of silence
But the stagnant cold sterile suffocating silence
That drowns me, leaves me numb
Cold
And alone
Curled up in a corner
Sobbing for hugs and a few words
Of someone's whispered comfort

What if people were not flesh?
Perhaps instead made of books
Sheaves of paper and pots of ink
Words, words, words
Filling the pages
Shaping the heart, shaped from the heart
Telling the life story on the skin
And through the layers of body
The heart detailing the loves and passions
And heartbreaks it has felt
The tongue and stomach telling
Of the delicious foods they've tasted
The mind regaling the stories and tales
It has heard and read
The eyes etched with pictures
And places and people
The ears curling around their recollections
Of songs and voices past
And last, the lips.
Inscribed with the memories and tastes
Of every kiss stolen and each word spoken

If we had no bones
Were only bags of skin
Stretched like amoebas
Barely holding our insides in
Our bodies would be jelly
And have no form at all
Without our bones to hold us up
No longer would we stand tall

As any of my friends can tell you
I'm a very strange and quirky person
and so is my family
I hate hate hate coffee
But I'm also addicted to coffee ice cream
And chocolate covered expresso beans
I detest the taste of alchohol
So I'm allowed to try it whenever I want
I used to hate green tea but
My best friend mentioned he loved it
I gave it another chance, and now love it too
At my high school I'm not at all 'popular'
But everyone seems to know me
I am one of the shortest kids in my high school
But have some of the tallest friends
And they all love coffee
So if you like coffee say rawr
And if you like tea say *miaou

For thousands of years we have found ways of writing on the wall
Much of it concerning bragadocious claims

I woke up this morning and felt like doing some cutting
Just for the heck of it.
I didn't, if only because I had no reason
I had no time
I made two promises,
And with them, I never lie.
Got up, dressed, finished a project due by 2:30
Before school starts my brother comes down
Scale in hand, telling me to get on so he can see if he weighs more
Always wanting to be taller, weigh more
So I can be his 'little sister'
I sigh, step on. Expecting my usual of 90-92
86
Freak out mode: on.
I forgot to eat properly over the last 24 hours, maybe that's it
I only got 5 hours of sleep the last 2 nights, maybe that's it
I've been really stressed by school, maybe that's it
Almost time to go and somehow I still can't eat, I don't want to.
I need to though.
Let me explain this: I normally weigh about 92 pounds
95 is what I should weigh
I need to gain weight anyway, but high metabolisms don't like that
So usually I am 3 pounds underweight
Today it was about 10.
Go to school, should eat but don't want to
Standing, waiting, anticipating what?
Hand my friend three cookies, I tell the group my problem
One cookie handed back(other two previously eaten)
Told to eat by four friends, too hard to explain why I can't eat
Numerous reminders to eat
Lunch: I'm handed some chicken nuggets, ice cream
Half jokingly threatened that I won't be talked to unless I eat
Begged to eat
Strangely: I have no such desire
I have minimal amounts of body fat(less than 10 percent)
But even so, I can feel weight missing,
The absence of my already flat belly, surreal to think about
I still don't feel like eating, not really hungry
No other explanation
Friend tells me to pig out when I get home
Quiz bowl after school and I'm only ever so slightly hungry
But not much
A friend steals my gym shoes, mom comes
At home I eat some butter and honeyed toast, tea, candied ginger, half a thing of crackers
Report to friend # 2 who then proceeds to command me to eat more, and interrogates on why I'm not eating
Tell friend # 1 as well, his approval expressed
Dinner and afterwards I only feel hungrier... so strange.
I check the scale again
89
Better, but still too low.
I need to work on this...

A concealed point of metal
Basket's corner
Tears my knee
As I trip between bed and wall
Blood wells in the cut
Dark black blood
In the room with lights out
Press the wound and more blood drips
Smear the red war paint
All along my leg
Fingertips stained
I fall and bleed
But smile

Have you ever done something other people said was so completely wrong for you because it was in fact entirely right at that moment in time, but later you think about it and say that was utterly stupid and wrong for me, and still later you want to try it again and repeat the cycle, even though you know you will be hurt again, but you want to try in the hopes that that brief period of sweet release will be worth it.

Inspiration is a fickle muse
A touchy maid
A picky flirt
Tempting the artist and author
Flicking a tendril of light
In your direction so it
Barely brushes the mind
Enough to see that it's genius
But not enough to see what it is
So many lose this tickle of an idea
But a few are prepared
Armed with papers and pens
Walls and paints
Stone and chisel
They scribble and splash and carve it
As best they can and then refine
Shape and sculpt to better suit
Their idea of perfection
So that the same tendril may touch thirty
But only ten capture it
And none in the same manner

you pulled the tears from beneath my furrowed brow,
apologizing over and over again
promising to wipe them away and stop up the flow.

we used such primal passions to sew us together,
even as the same tore the fabric apart
til only threads remained, shredded.

then you handed me the rake and pointed towards our garden,
telling me to pull out all the nettles and dandelions,
but i set it aside and made my own place aside from yours.

I wish for one thing only: wings
Why wings, you ask?
Well, they've so much to offer
I wish for wings to fly
To soar through the clouds
To dance circles around you
To fly closer to you
I wish for wings to embrace
To shelter myself when I'm lonely
To hold you closer when we hug
To shield our kisses from prying eyes
I wish for wings to love
To caress your cheeks with wingtips
To tickle friends with feather touches
To brush snow and leaves from your grave
I wish for wings to be strong
To help me flee those who hurt
To comfort myself with their presence
To remind people that angels do exist

Katydid, dear katydid
Your wings unbroken
Whole, but unusable
All scrunched up
Like a terrible essay
Or the tenth draft of
A love letter
Tossed aside
All crumpled up
Because of how you
Backed yourself into a corner
Hidden amongst tendrils
And strands of grass
And weeds pressed into
Place in a synthetic
Prison-turned-hospital
You hide and change
Your skin, stripping it away
To be subtly reborn

Todd feels a toad
Ugly and warty and full of slime
Potential lacking everywhere
Cannot see his own beauty until forced
Yet then, he becomes the
First to stand
First to call out
First to cry,
"O Captain! My Captain!"
Throwing aside his
Gag and shackles
Stepping up and
Taking, the leap of faith.

After some taste tests, I must admit
The differences in your kisses are not subtle
Some were animal and possesive
A sensual and surprising ferocity
Some were soft and fast
As delicious as honey and as sweet
Others were long and powerful
An outpouring of emotion
Still others were light and lovingly
Pressed to cheek or temple or neck
And though I admit they're all so different,
Their qualities bleed into one another
So that of the
Quick and passionate ones
Or light kisses with a touch of wild
All have been received and welcomed
And enjoyed