Leave me alone with my thoughts
So I can twist myself into the perfect doll girl
Smile
And pretend it's lipstick on my teeth and not blood
And yes Doctor I ate this morning
(I hate myself for it)
And no Doctor I haven't being doing the
badnastywrong

Laugh
And laugh
So no one can see last nights dinner bloating me
Turning me into a grotesque monster
Laugh so hard my belly aches
Enable me to hate myself more

Lie about me
Lie to me
Say that you love me
So it's easier to fool me
I just have to be thinner
Skip breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Smirk through the tears because soon I'll be the perfect size

I can see my ribs
My spine
Battered body that I call mine
That's betraying me
And making me the opposite
I want to be the Princess, not the Witch
Instead I'm turning into a stone cold *****
That can't walk
And can't stand
I'm drowning in my own quicksand.

Safety in bones
splintery and barbed,
cutting away the fear of flesh
as Persephone sleeps eternally.

Knees ache and bruise during restless slumber,
one on top of the other,
from running this eternal marathon
of illusive perfection.

Recklessly chasing rainbows
conceived out of the
blind imagination of the masses.
Hunger pains mistaken for redemption,
skeletons misconstrued as a life
well lived.

Freedom and courage are found
in deadly comments from innocent mouths:
“Are you eating enough?”
“You are so skinny!”
“Are you sick?”

Yes.

I am sick.

A slow, tedious sickness of my soul.
Not wanting to live with the flesh
of my past,
not knowing how to maneuver the
burdensome flesh
of my present,
while obsessively worrying over the flesh
of my future.

As I slowly **** the only self I know,
(or don’t know),
and replace her with a mask of self possession,
I unearth an exquisite relief from the dread of
never being loved because I am
too much.

In my twisted perception,
that is true death.
This is only dying….

my bare feet and the nose-crinkling tickling of sand-
a contradictory image,
for I was taught to never run with scissors,
your image a rusted blade in my femoral.

my heartbeat and the blithe tide have flirted in a far less than parallel existence,
heels rotting, feet grinding down to the ankle-bones
in the softest fashion,
like a dying rose in vase
in a cubicle too small.

I've inhaled these beaches before.
white dresses have lit up the July wind like lavender candles,
sunsets and barking labs scalping distant couches,
turning my broken back into your expendable canvas.

your birthday has escaped me,
and the tattoo on the back of your sandpaper neck is a static television frequency.

the rip-tide is welcoming me for dinner, filling my lungs with my favorite dessert.

My silence is also my grief,
Forgive me my discretion.

It fails me to talk with you,
To mention your transgression.

It fails me to restore you
To where I once adored you.

It deems me guilty,
guilty,
without a choice,
without a voice.

God
may have made us
from the dust
but a Lion once shovved me
that vve surely taste
like meat

Humans are stardust.
Nothing more
Nothing less.
We, being stardust, are also energy.
So we cannot be created
Nor destroyed.
Only reborn, constantly.

And I think there's something
Just lovely about that.

I think the reason some of us like the smell of gasoline,
Or the smell of a charred grill,
Or just things burning,
Is because that's what they say space smells like.
And think those few of us
Who enjoy the smell of gasoline,
Charred grills,
And burning things,
Are those of us who somewhat remember
Being nothing more, and nothing less, than a star.

And I think the only people who can remember being stardust
Are the newest and oldest of souls.
Because they're the ones closest to both
The beginning
And the end.

And, while I know it hurts to remember
Things you cannot fathom,
I think there's something beautiful--
Strangely beautiful.
Obscurely beautiful,
In having lived so many lives
Yet still remembering when you were the very first you.

Humans are stardust.
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
We, being stardust, are also energy.
So we cannot be created
Nor destroyed.
Only reborn, constantly.

And I think there's something
Just lovely about that.

You were a grey sky
and I was terrified of rain.
You were the churning clouds,
and I didn't have an umbrella.
You were the downpour,
and for the first time,
I was cleansed by the rain
instead of being stained.

I am not
Perfect.
I am an
Extraordinarily
Flawed human.

I cry a lot.
I laugh a lot.
I yell a lot.

I am quiet when i should not be.
I am loud at the wrong times.

I smile when i'm uncomfortable.
I cannot cry when others are crying.

But i am full of love
And full of empathy,
Sometimes too much.

I am whole, in a different way.

You have taught me that nothing is irreparably broken.
I have learned that i am greater
Than just the sum of my parts.

Please heed your own words,
As mine seem to fail to reach you.

If time is a face on the water
and we are a ripple in the ocean
We kiss the earth
We swim in strange waters
We wash up on blood stained sheets
and with a wail we walk again