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..

I spend so many nights starring up from my bed.
Gazing upon the plastic glow in the dark stars.
Vision blurs as I long to be staring at the real thing.
Or maybe- it's not so much that I want to see them.
Maybe it's I want to be one- I want to be a star.
I want to be looked for- to be wanted so badly that people travel miles just to get far enough away to see me properly. What a different feeling, to be wanted. To feel so loved and cherished. That's all I've ever wanted, I want to feel noticed. I want to feel loved. I want to feel like I'm worth something. I don't just want to be wanted. I want to be wanted by you. So tell me, will you travel away from it all to see me? Will you miss me when you have to return to civilization? No.. No you will simply stay where you are- not bothering to take a chance on something you can't see. But why would you? So many shine brighter than me..

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..

Manila folders holding clues
Wine glasses filled with apple juice

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

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.

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.

Because starving doesn't hurt as bad
As looking in the mirror.

Because dragging a thin piece of metal
Across my skin, gives the pain a place to live.

Because when it's dark and I'm alone
There's no more voices to say "No."

Because I know it'll be hard for you
To understand- thats why I'll give you a hand.

Because I know how badly you want
To know me. But help me understand this-

Are you ready?

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.

Have you ever been so exhausted that

your words come out like feathers,

and breathing feels like a chore?

A black and white world seemed simple enough.
Two colors.
Two tones.
Two outcomes.
Two options.
         Two.
But in reality it is more complex.
People use black and white when describing     something that is clear as day.
But the endless shades of grey, the endless tones of black, the endless combinations of white.

How can we use black and white to describe something that's suppose to be simple?
      We can't really.
Try to describing the color red, when all you see is a shade of grey.

How would you know when two colors go together?
I guess they all would.
Grey matches grey.
White matches white.
Darkness, matches darkness.
So maybe, seeing in black and white is more clear..
       Maybe..

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.

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.

Water seeps into my skin so quickly
Pruning my little feet within minutes
of soaking in the warm water.
That's a lie actually- my feet are not little, they are quite adverage for my height but I've always viewed them as too big.
I bruise at the lightest of touch
And they stay for weeks*
Everything I eat rips and claws through my body- just to come crashing out moments later
That sounds rather graffic doesn't it?
And they wonder why I don't eat.
The pain in unbelievable  
So dramatic poems, aren't they? I suppose that's the point though? To e able to exaggerate thoughts without judgment.
My body breaking down
Screaming with every move
Maybe not screaming. That would be strange, wouldn't it? Tiny voice resounding from your pores.
I'm still waiting- waiting for this *medication to work. Or for them to say "Let's try this instead. "
I really appreciate all doctors, they are amazing. But sometimes I feel like a guinea pig. It's been sixteen years- dont they know what it is yet?
I'm tired, so so tired.
*A dead battery *
I really am. Getting sick like this completely drains me of every once of energy I have.

I have a lot swimming through my mind everyday.
Recovery.
Relapse.
Restricting.
Eating.
Work.
Relationships.
Family.
Friends.
Appointments.
Body image.
Self image.
Future.
Past..
All at once.

But when I'm at a concert, a live performance, whether that be a symphony or a rock concert, I am free. It's when I'm full emersed in music, that when I don't feel like I'm drowning in anxiety. Standing up and dancing and head-banging to my favorite songs, or sitting and watching colors and designs sprout in front of my eyes as bows vibrate strings.

The only thing on my mind in those moments, is the music. Singing and dancing along, not a care in the world about what I look like or sound like. Who thinks I'm going overboard. Because the thing is, when I see other people dancing their hearts out and screaming the lyrics, it fills my own heart with such joy and love for them. They're having the time of their lives,


and I can too.

Oh little Cricket,
         Why have you gone silent?

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

And darling you're eight feet under water.

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.

I'm like a pencil
My lead has run out
And my eraser is threatening to be done

Everytime I try to help
Or fix something
It wears out more

I'm wearing thin
Paper thin
I'm afraid that I don't have any more to give.

Do you know the feeling?
    needles lining your rib cage
You can't take a deep breath.
    cant calm the earthquakes
So Breath for me
    live for me
Take my hand
   hold it steady
Because I'm ready
   *to fly myself home

"Is everything okay?"

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

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

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

Megan
What a poplar name
There are three Megans in my sixth period alone
Most people would want a new name
Something unique
Something different
Not me
I love my name
Sure- when I was young I wanted to change it

But now I know
I know what's so important about my name
See the fact is-
Others may have the same letters and
The same pronunciation.
But my name is still unque
Because my name is just that
MINE.
I, Megan, make my name
**Memorable.

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

Two weeks ago I got in an accident while mountain biking. I broke my collar bone and fractured my sternum. Abrasions covered my back, my hip had a puncture wound that turned into a hematoma and was swollen 2inches (I couldn't wear pants for a full week). I hit the ground with such force that air was forced out of my lungs and into the sack around my heart. I spent 18 hours in the ICU and three more days in the hospital after.

A long time ago I crashed. I crashed after you left. My ribs were caving in and making it hurt to breath, my cheeks burned, I swore to god my heart was never going to be okay again. The pain in my chest was incredible. The worst pain I have ever felt was when you left.

I flew over my handle bars two weeks ago and rolled down the mountain and still your absence hurts me more.

I find myself apologizing all the time
When I do something wrong
"I'm sorry," I messed up
When I can't quite get my sentences out right
"I'm sorry," I'm taking so much of your time

Bumping into a stranger
"I'm sorry," I was in your way
Someone helping me eat
"I'm sorry," I can't do this like I should be able to

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Even when I'm alone, nothing happens and still
"I'm sorry," for taking up space

It's one in the morning, I'm alone and I'm crying and muttering
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."


"I'm sorry," I lived and you didn't.

I've always kept this parachute.
This protective layer surrounding me.
Catching me as I fall, and keeping me safe from harm.

But now there's you-
Every minute we spend together pokes a hole in my parachute.
Each hole representing such a happy memory.
A poke for every laugh
For every soft word whispered
For every time I watched your eyes crinkle with that cute smile of yours.

So many holes- my parachute is starting to fail me.
I'm going defenseless.
You're destroying that protective layer.
I'm going into a free fall-

It's the most thrilling ride of all
And I could not be happier.

every bone in my body aches with the memory of you

And you're rocking again, but not like you use to.
Your knees are no longer drums
but they are still bruised
And your fingers are no longer drumsticks
but your knuckles are still red

There is no melody to air guitar to
And there is no chorus to yell out
But oh darling,
there is fighting
So keeping rocking away.

You told me today
That you feel like you're
Always too busy with other
People.

Well nice of you to join
My childhood.
Everyone's always too busy
With other people.

My whole life I've just been
Here. Never been noticed.
It's been sixteen years
And you're just now wondering.

I've never had anyone to talk to
About how this whole thing
Makes me feel.
Too busy.

Well I learn from the best.
I'm too busy to deal with
'feelings'  too busy to pay attention
To the rumble in my stomach.

Too busy to take care of myself
Because I'm trying to make
Everyone else okay.
But you're too busy to notice.

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.

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.

A buzzing in the air
excitment
We're finally leaving
lets go already
Just another hour..
We've been waiting all year
All the saving finally paying off
It's here. It's here.
So tune up those strings.
*We're here to play

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

Possible
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder?

Certain things trigger thoughts and emotions, in me.
Almost like memories but not quite.

I imagine myself in the situation I just saw (whether in a movie or TV show) and I am over come with the urge to scream and cry. To hit things around me.

But I don't know why. I can't figure out what it is, why I feel a connection to it. I role play online the situations, and I fight like hell.

I don't know why.

I don't know why I want to play these scenes out, why I want to fight. Why I want to feel like I'm in it.

I don't understand.

Nothing has ever happened to me. Nothing like that. I'm hurting and

I don't know why.

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'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.

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

Am I really
So easy to forget?
Do you think
That I'm a ghost?
Do you think
That I wouldn't notice?

I'm actually okay with this
I'm use to it
I've felt myself fading away
For months
I'm disappearing

I understand how
I can't stand to look at
Myself for more than
A minute.
So how could you?