I throw up until my head feels like it's not there but I can still taste your **** mouth.

It's not like you wake up one day

     and you suddenly hate every inch.

It happens gradually
    
     an inch at a time.

I remember where mine started

    and how it grew like wild fire.

Until it consumed me
  
     an inch at a time.

And the ones that build you to be a skyscraper are the ones who shake you into rubble.

And I thought I was getting better

      but then I woke up on the tile

the water had lost its heat and the burn had moved to my throat

My body that use to shake with laughter
            now shakes with fear.

I didn't use to double check to see if the doors were locked up tight at night.

But now I'm terrified that you'll come knocking when the alcohol kicks in.

No more are the sweet phone calls filled with slurred "I love you"s at 2am.

Angry words have become their replacement.

I never thought you could hurt me, but I couldn't have ever imagined that you could have cheated on me.

You were always so scary when you were mad. So quick to hit anything close.

I don't know what you're capable of anymore.

If life is a dream, then you are my nightmare.
And I can't. Wake. Up.

And it's sad that someone who once held my heart

Now strikes fear into it

I need to get you off my mind.
Off my lips.
I can still taste your mouth
as if we just kissed.

Eating disorders are not always dainty, pretty models.

They’re not sticking one finger halfway into your mouth, to immediately get rid of everything.

Or not eating for one day and losing weight automatically. 

Eating Disorders are not going shopping with your friends and having a good time because you fit in the same size as them.
Eating disorders are laying on the floor of the shower willing yourself to just do it already.

It’s starring at the shower drain for so long that when you finally look up it’s highlighted on the tile wall.

Eating disorders are shoving all your fingers down your throat and scraping your knuckles on your teeth to only throw up an oz of what’s in your stomach— and so you repeat and repeat until your body shakes and your nose burns.

Eating disorders are crying as you look in the mirror because even if you reach your goal weight, you know that it won’t be enough.

Eating disorders are being so weak that you don’t want to go out, all you want to do is lay in bed until your stomach stops hurting.

It’s not wanting anyone to worry, but also wanting to know why your heart gets sharp pains through it sometimes.

Why your head always ******* hurts.

Or why you’re so exhausted all the time, why you fall asleep in class as soon as you set your head down- but when you lay down at night you can’t fall asleep because there are voices screaming at you to do better.

To eat less. 

To weigh less.

Have you ever been so exhausted that

your words come out like feathers,

and breathing feels like a chore?

They can't see your tears when you're drowning.

And darling you're eight feet under water.

Because you can't feel the tears sting your eyes if you're already drowning.

every bone in my body aches with the memory of you

And the circles that I use to cover with makeup
                have gotten so dark that not even "industrial strength" concealer covers them up anymore.

     it doesn't even make a dent.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired is all. I've been working a lot. "

"You sound more than tired.. You sound defeated.."

It's 6:00am, I'm getting ready for school and wishing I could text you good morning.

It's 8:23am, I'm laughing with my friends and wishing I still had to take mental notes of the conversations so I could tell you and make you laugh too.

It's 11:34am, and I'm pushing my food around my plate wishing you still asked me how my day was going.

It's 2:30pm, I'm leaving school and wishing I was on my way to your house to lay on your bed and laugh with you.

It's 5:56pm, I'm sitting in these hard metal chairs at work wishing you would come visit me again.

It's 10:45pm, I'm getting ready for bed and wishing I could tell you good night, and to tell you to have sweet dreams.  

It's 11:11pm and I'm crying again wishing you were here with me.

It's 1:02am and I'm still crying and now there's blood mixed with the tears and I'm wishing you were here to tell me that it will all be okay.

It's 3:17am.. My eyes are puffy and sting, my cheeks are itchy and red.

It's 3:19am, My heart is torn to shreds.
And I miss you.

willow tree standing proud and strong  branches flowing in the wind as if dancing to nature's song.

it's serene to watch, listen and truly see. we are but a small part, you and me.

oceans formed over days, weeks, years. their deepest points holding your darkest fears.

willow cracks and salty water lulling me to sleep. hush hush little baby, not even a peep.

Oh little Cricket,
         Why have you gone silent?

Manila folders holding clues
Wine glasses filled with apple juice

And to my surprise, a broken heart
Just got a very needed jump start.

It's 2am.
I am sitting in the middle of my bedroom
on the ground
alone.
I'm just starring out my window.
Watching the moon drift softly across the sky,
the outline blurred through my sheer black curtains.  
I'm listening to the cricket's soft cry.
And I'm letting myself drift away with the moon.
Let me die.. Let me die.

I'll watch the silver moonlight spread across my pillow and delicate fingers.

The sandman nowhere in sight, and not wanting to be found. I'm growing tired of this game of hide and seek.

Instead I'll stay with the sky as the sliver light slowly stains red with the coming dawn.

Bruises left on my body
A footprint of your words.

I come visit you..
And I'll leave a daisy on your stone
So you know how you left a print on my heart.
A wilted flower of hope that had been given up
Six
Years
Ago..

It's my Birthday today.
I'm Turning 17.
The same age that you had been frozen at.
It's so incredibly unfair...
You didn't have enough time.
I don't feel old.
I don't feel wise.
I don't feel like I'm one year away from being an adult.
And I certainly don't feel old enough to die.

Willow tree cracks
And fruit punch stains
That's what my nights are made of.

For as long as I can remember-
This is where I've lived.
I've never moved.
This house, this room has always been mine.
My mother has always slept on the other side of the wall.
Then why, at two in the morning, do I find myself wishing to go home?
Why do I repeat "I want to go home." over and over.
Tears stream down my cheeks, etching patterns and trails.
Creating a map for me to follow.
But where will it lead me?

It's funny to think about-
Every time you lay down and close your eyes, you risk the chance of not waking up. 
Every time you get into your car and drive, you risk the chance of not coming home. 

We are constantly gambling with our own lives, and we don't even realize it. 

Because the truth is- the only thing that is indefinitely deadly, is life itself.

Sometimes you're hurting and you don't know why.
Or maybe you do know- and you wish you didn't.
What can you do when there is a raging storm inside you?
How do you let it out without seeming weak?
I'll be the last person to ask for help, I do not go to others when in need.
I rely on myself, and myself only- but maybe it's time to step back.
I can't do this on my own and I can't seem to form the words to ask.
I'm drowning in my own bedroom and yet I can't cry for help.

Sometimes I just feel really sad.
  
               And I don't know why.

You need to do it.
                            I don't..
Yes you do- and you know it.
                            Stop. Go away.
Just do it already you big baby.
                            I'm scared.
Why? You've done it before. It's not a big deal. ******* go.
                            What if Mom hears me?
She won't. Do you want to lose it?
                            Yes
What are you waiting for then?
                            (sigh)
You need to do it.
                            (Shaking)
...
                    ­       (Gives in)
Feel better?
                           No.. Yes. I don't know
You do.
I win again.

Sisters are eternal best friends. They are suppose to love each other through thick and thin.

Sometimes a sister is the only person you feel like you can talk to.
Other times, shes the reason you can't talk to anyone.
They are suppose to be the person that you can trust most.
Sometimes they are the ones who take your ability to trust.
They're the only one that can make you laugh when you're ready to cry.
Or maybe they're the only ones that can make you cry.

It doesn't matter to me, what kind of sister you are. You could hate me- cut me off- not speak to me for years

But the second you need me- I'll be right there.
I'll always come back to you.

Alcoholism took my father away from me.
I watched him destroy his life from the age of five.
When Austin left us- I watched his life shatter completely.
I started to plink away on the piano.
Then he started to pick up the pieces.
He got his life together, remarried, and is trying to repay a lost childhood.
So I continue to play.

Now, I'm watching both my sister's life come to crumbles at the lips of a bottle.
So I play louder.
One has gone to rehab for drugs and alcohol.
She is getting better- back on her feet.
The other has moved out and cut off communication with our Father.
So I keep playing.
I'll write a sonng or two for you-
and I'll wait for you to come home.

All I've ever known alcohol to do- is destroy.
And people wonder why the smell nauseates me..

I think I'm allergic to eating..

       I wake up the next day to soft blue blotches on my thighs
       And angry red lines on my hip.

Dad,
       I know it's sort of a cliche, saying "words can not express how much I love you." but that is quite true. Although I rather think words COULD describe; the only problem is finding the words to do this justice. And you, of all people, know that I am not good with words. So I'll try this instead:
       You taught me how to ride a bike, you taught me how to use that pair of Heelys shoes so that I could ride for forever without stopping to get a running start. You [tried] to teach me how to ice-skate backwards, I do not have the best memory- but knowing me, that didn't end well. You taught me to love music, you showed me how music can communicate any emotion without a single word.
       There are something, however, that I do not remember you ever teaching me. I do not recall you ever sitting me down and talking to me about the person I should grow up to be. You never showed me a text book or took me to class to teach me how to be kind, or loving. But sometimes the best teachers, teach without ever meaning to. You taught me to be kind to everyone around me. You taught me how to talk to people in a way that shows confidence. You taught me how to stand up for myself, and what I believe in. You taught me that sometimes perseverance is key. You taught me how to love people past their faults. You taught me courage. It is true, these are all things that you did not sit me down to teach me, you simply taught me by being you. By example. You have always been the greatest example to me. That's the thing about kids, right? We're always watching and absorbing everything we see. I was so lucky to take in all that I did. I wouldn't be the person that I am today without your examples. For me, I know I will always use theses qualities. You helped set me up for a great life, and I intend on using every bit of knowledge and wisdom that you have given me throughout my 16, almost 17 years. I am so grateful for everything that you have done for me. You gave all three of your daughters the tools we need to live a successful and happy life. It just may take a little longer for some to realize this.. But I know you, you never lose faith in us. And that's more than I could ever ask for. I love you.
-Megs

You have absolutely every reason to hate me right now.

But you still told me that you love me and that you're happy I'm by your side.

And if that is not true love, I don't know what is.

I need you
                 Like a book needs punctuation
I need you
                 Like a best friend in isolation
I need you
                 Like a song needs a beat
I need you
                 Like a runner without feet
I need you
                 Like a forest needs rain
I need you
                 Like a window without a glass pane

I've never been able to yell
or scream at someone.
No matter how angry,
or how hurt I am.

It's a blessing
and a curse.

I live to please.
But who?
Myself? Certainly not.

Sometimes I get so angry
that I want to lash out.
Break something, throw
something against the wall.

Watch something shatter so I know
what it looks like inside my heart.

I pick up a jar, ready to hurl it at
a stone wall.
But just as soon as my arm pitches back,
it falls slowly to the ground.

I sink to my knees and the jar clicks softly
against the ground as I place it next to me.

Soft sobs raking through my body
As if on their own angry rampage.

Fingers dig into my hair, pushing it away
from my face, so that I may see clearly.

To see the unbroken jar still sitting peacefully
next to my hand, now flat on the concrete.

Sometimes the hardest battles are fought alone
at night
when it's dark
and quiet.
I haven't even been typing for more than a few seconds
and already the tears are flowing.
Too strong for too long.
That's what they say, right?
Crying does not mean you're weak
it means you have been too strong for too long.
What *******.
I am weak.
I know I am.
Broken angel
hurt so many times
by those who were meant to protect.
Walls have been put up to protect myself since no one else
seemed to care enough to save
the five year old little girl.
Eleven years later and I'm cold and hard as stone.
I wish I were a stone..
Instead of this **** sponge who is destined
to be poked and prodded.
I will soak up your mess,
so you don't have to suffer.
Give me your worries, I will take them.
Give me your addictions, I will take them.
Give me your broken shards, I will take them.
I don't care if I get cut and scraped.
Let me bleed-
so you can live.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
That is a fact.
She'll cradle and choke you.
But she'll get rid of the fat.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
But this is for sure-
The burning in your throat and mouth
Will not be the only sore.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
Late at night when you're alone
She'll be with you
Kneeling at the porcelain thrown.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
Because very soon
She'll have you dreaming
Of being a thinspo.

It's funny
How a simple black line,
A pigmented powder,
And a plastic line glued to my eyelid
Can make me feel pretty
Makes me feel presentable
It makes me feel like I'm worth something

But even so-
It's false.
Synthetic.
It's all a lie.

Oh how I wish I could stop lying.

It's amazing
                     Isn't it?
    What a difference
                                                       EIGHT
                             *******
        
                                                   POUNDS
makes..

                       I was feeling okay
    Then I stepped on that ****** scale
                                              And now
I'm                   Falling
            To                    
     P
      E
         I
           C
              E
                 S

If only that were a literal statement..
            Then maybe I could forget some shards of myself

And I'll be lighter