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heautontimoroumenosPoems
I would change my body. I would change my fate. In March I woke up like a child Concussed on the playground, I went wandering. I went wanting, Groping at the wildflowers for signs, Haruspice the seashells at my feet. I would smile at strangers when they Passed me in the dunes, or the forest, I would walk for hours. I would wake At night with angry hunger, If I ate, I would walk. Ten kilometres. Twenty. Nothing passed between my lips. I forgot how to pray, I forgot how to Make anything but my changing body A temple to the glory of existence. I Would glare at others who would look At my unfinished project. I would not Laugh if it didn’t sound like birdsong, I wouldn’t talk if you didn’t call Out softly, somewhere in you, To the old hills, One-hundred Kilometres in Three Days. I would look at the dark dividing line In the middle of my thigh, where the sea Met the sand and swallowed it slowly. I would write that my ribs were my Wings, coming out of a pupae, the Uncovering of some divine heritage, my Chartered purpose. I would stare at those I loved but be dead in the voice. I would Look longingly outside of me, at the bars, Music in the city, The hum of summer, the stars at night. I would be proven wrong. I would be human again. I would be crying, and messy, and warm-skinned in the winter, I would be hungry, I would want for everything. I would bleed again and for that be happy, it would be red and raw and unpredictable. I would bleed again and I would open, silently, in the next spring, like the crocuses, I am showing them the insects and the pollen, the purple, the yellow, I am letting them in.
0
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 4:11 PM UTC
my year without love
I would change my body. I would change my fate. In March I woke up like a child Concussed on the playground, I went wandering. I went wanting, Groping at the wildflowers for signs, Haruspice the seashells at my feet. I would smile at strangers when they Passed me in the dunes, or the forest, I would walk for hours. I would wake At night with angry hunger, If I ate, I would walk. Ten kilometres. Twenty. Nothing passed between my lips. I forgot how to pray, I forgot how to Make anything but my changing body A temple to the glory of existence. I Would glare at others who would look At my unfinished project. I would not Laugh if it didn’t sound like birdsong, I wouldn’t talk if you didn’t call Out softly, somewhere in you, To the old hills, One-hundred Kilometres in Three Days. I would look at the dark dividing line In the middle of my thigh, where the sea Met the sand and swallowed it slowly. I would write that my ribs were my Wings, coming out of a pupae, the Uncovering of some divine heritage, my Chartered purpose. I would stare at those I loved but be dead in the voice. I would Look longingly outside of me, at the bars, Music in the city, The hum of summer, the stars at night. I would be proven wrong. I would be human again. I would be crying, and messy, and warm-skinned in the winter, I would be hungry, I would want for everything. I would bleed again and for that be happy, it would be red and raw and unpredictable. I would bleed again and I would open, silently, in the next spring, like the crocuses, I am showing them the insects and the pollen, the purple, the yellow, I am letting them in.
my niche and different eating disorder where I compulsively walked for about 5 hrs a day minimum and thought this was really normal and good because i was bored and gap yahring
#spring#body#change#fate#walking
Written by
heautontimoroumenos
19
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 4:11 PM UTC
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