Dad hasn't been the same
since he found out about
                me
His eyes hold a deep sorrow
and the whiskey rarely sees
the cupboard anymore
permanently placed on
his nightstand where
my picture used to be
-
*He blames himself, you know

Sleep deprived.
Its 2.30 in the morning
and im smiling to myself like an idiot over someone else’s love story.
Sometimes I fear the closest I will ever get to the feeling of love or being loved will always be found in written words or acted out in movies.
Pure and typical escapism at its best.
Always trying to find a way to have something you always crave for deeply.
When the world is telling you no
you need to be a strong independent woman and all you do is end up relying on others for this sort of love they can give you.
Which you cannot give yourself.
It’s rather sad really seeing as the truth is we all die alone.
We humans always crave something we cannot have
when we have what we believe is everything we end up being wrong.
Money cant buy you everything.
Love can’t get you everything.
Having a lot of friends doesn't necessarily mean you are liked and will be remembered.
So if you could live as a strong independent being would you?
Or do you secretly like this graving for attention, affection?  
Yet at the same time it hurts just like having that last piece of cheese cake when you know you shouldn't.
You will feel worse afterwards for breaking your so called diet
But you really want them few minutes of pleasure that you dearly miss.
When that cheesecake rests in your mouth.
Until the last bite and then its gone
and all that is left is that feeling of regret and guilt.

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Hello friends and fellow artists,
I was sitting here (my room) the other night and I had a thought about all my peers that are or have gone through self harm. It dawned on me that warm weather is coming up and a lot of you/us feel like you can’t wear shorts or short sleeves. I've noticed that there is a lot of poems about that on here, probably because us silly poets are always so emotional and feel things so strongly. I had the idea of making a video on how to cover up your scars with makeup for summer time. Though I am at a place in my life where I no longer feel the need to hide them, I know a lot of people still do (and there’s nothing wrong with that). If I could get some feedback on this I’d be really thankful! :) Much love and good vibes to you all!

I think those who self harm
Are the most under estimated.

They are the most clever they
Are the most under rated.

So I haven't cut in a month
Are those thoughts really parted?

You said it wouldn't make a difference
Are the wedding plans thwarted?

La la la la la la la

My wounds are scars
With care they are covered

Does love really exist
With bright eyes I wondered

Finally healed and
With the clouds I have hovered

My darkest of days
With them I have sundered

La la la la la la la

Recovery is a process
But I've made it through this mess

Others say they care
But you alone I wish to impress

All this work that's come
But you rid me of stress

So far away
But you make me feel like a princess

La la la la la la la

Birds will sing, but I don't really feel a thing.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

"Bulimia nervosa, an eating disorder that involves bingeing on food followed by purging, can cause gum disease, osteoporosis, kidney disease, heart disease, and death. Bulimia affects mostly women and teens." - WebMD.com*

My eyes blurred as I wiped away the remaining evidence from my mouth.
I cried.

It seems that bulimia had taken over my life these past couple of months.
Even my hands shake now.
For some reason, I didn't seem to care that I could give myself cancer with this, that I could die from this.

My headaches have gotten worse, my depression even more intense.
And my poor, sweet mother, willing to believe that I am sick and NOT doing this to myself.

Could I really do this to her?
She now has the duty to care for several children that are not hers because she cares too much.
She tries, but she no longer listens to her own children.

My mother is broken.
Revealing this to her will only break her more.

So I'll keep quiet.
Purging and ridding myself of my shame and self respect.
What could possibly be worse?