What a tragic state of affairs it is
as I find myself thinking out loud:

"If only I cared."

I once sat on a blood stained pedestal
praying to a god made out of porcelain and water

I once saw through my enemies and
crushed their spirits under my black combat boots

I lie in the face of police
I lie in the face of my mother

I wear these scars like a noose

We are the girls who walk around with little bird bones,
rib cages ready to snap when we spread our wings and
fly away

and for my next act,
I shall disappear little by little until I am ash.

I’m not eating for four days or until
I can feel the ***** that is my stomach start to shrink

I used to refuse food for weeks
it amazes me how self-indulgent I have become

I am ready to eat spoonfuls of air
spin my hair into a models top knot and
know that water is a privilege not a right

a million screaming girls saying
“but im not hungry”
while a tiger flays their insides open at night

Kate Moss said "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"
and I suppose she is correct
What happens when you learn the tongue is a muscle not to be used

What happens when sustenance is no longer needed
When the mind decides
the very thing that keeps the body alive is a punishment

What happens when you refuse a necessity of being human

Eyes lingering on the steel blade.
Tracing the exact way to tie that knot,
noting where she puts her pills.
Floating in the water,
body tempted tempted to forget how to swim.
Maybe if I starve long enough...
Sometimes I think about death,
but then question
What's the point of killing the body
when the soul died so long ago?
What's the point,
when I'm already dead inside?

i don’t want to love you
anymore
i’d rather love books
and words
and the sea
when it rages
i’d rather love
adventure and
late nights
filled with smiles

i don’t want to hide
anymore
i’d rather fly
to a far away mountain
and scream
at the top of
a blue peak
i’d rather explode
with virtue
like a light—
a star
who has met
it’s end

i don’t want to love you
anymore
i don’t want
the sun to fall
i don’t want
my coffee to go cold
or my cigarettes
to wage war
on my lungs
but there’s little to do
when the universe
twists
in it’s inevitable ways

Here’s something.
When a man and a woman love each other very much...
That’s an archaism.
Everybody ***** everybody nowadays.
Girls, boys, girls.
Am I getting left behind because I’m anachronistic?
I just want it to mean something, you know?
Not societal pressure.
Not the standard physical progression of a high school relationship.

I just want a friend, and to build a closer connection.
I want to hold someone and feel the heat of their body, and know that they’re feeling mine.
I want to close my eyes and trust that their eyes are also.

I have this idea (dream?) of *** being transcendent, not terrestrial.
I want to love, and to feel...not to ****.
Am I making sense?
Am I the only person in the world who thinks like this? Probably not.
But I’ve got a sinking feeling that I’ll never find that other person.

I'd want someone, a friend, a best friend, who'd understand the connection I want to make.
They’d understand the closeness and transcendentalism, understand that it isn’t about societal rules,
or regulations,
or ideals.

I want making love to be about making love, not pretenses and cliches and other Earthy concerns.
Maybe I’m an idealist.

I don’t care.

This is what I want.