To the boys who like girls with eating disorders.

1. Be unafraid to call her beautiful. Feel no hesitation when articulating the grace in her intricacies. The delicacy she wields when flicking back her hair. The shape her semblance set in as she sleeps. The way… she holds a fork.
Even as you call her beautiful  you may experience pangs of guilt. Acknowledge that despite your appreciation for her formation you do not want her to be like this forever. Watch as polite small talk and casual compliments get swallowed up by half full plates and half empty stomachs. Watch her try to chew and words you feed.

2. If you make if to boyfriend status. Her disease may begin to look like the ex partner she’s still hung up over. Watch as she quotes all his favorite things he use to tell her. Do not tell me, I look like I’m getting better I can’t look like getting better. She may look like the embodiment of the phrase “old habits die hard”. But remember… Mother taught you patience and forgiveness. When someone abuses you, you may be vocal about it or you may repress it but you do not forget, and boy... she has some scars. Across every angular bone protruding where a body use to be. In every atrophied muscle where disease did once grip and seek to claim something as it’s own. In every mirror. In darker shop windows where that display mannequins sport the latest illness and in every look you give her. There is no vaccination for this victimization. It will take time.

3... If her condition has left her anxious...

Left her white in the face like porcelain plates serving a future that tastes like insecurity.

If her condition has left her hopeless. Left her thinking that a full stomach means an empty future.
If her condition has left her broken, in any sense of the word, he is not without fixture.
She was a woman before she was a victim. She was a person before she was a patient. She is still a woman, she is still a person. She has a destination outside of disorder. She has dreams that could be bigger than these demons.

And 4… and this is not is not for the boys who like girls with eating disorders, this is for the boys who love!
4. Do you think she is worth it? What can you outweigh?.. Can you make her smile, can you... fill her?

There will be poetry in my place.

On evenings where we wrote stories to be told to future friends.
In every den we built when we were 8 and every drink we spilt when were 18. In all the questionable bottles we looted and and the high 5’s we so poorly executed. There’s as much poetry in our lips as we chug as there is in our fingertips as we hug.

It’s in my mother's muscles. How, to the naked eye it’s invisible to see what weight she’s carried. The friends she’s buried and the men she’s married.

It’s In silence as much in sound. It’s found in the desperate and passionate. As much as the meek and the modest. It’s in the the sound your feet make when running from something… or to someone. It’s in the silence my friends pill bottle makes when depression is over and done.
It’s in every fight lost but every war won. It’s in your glee after tragedy. In recovery after injury.

and I like to hope you see in me. See it in my eyes at the same moment you leave. See it in our sheets as it gets harder to breathe. But we don’t care because there’s poetry in there!

There’s poetry in the time people share.
Poetry in the way fingers interlock and voices grow soft.
Poetry... between us.

But it isn’t always that easy to discuss. Easy to pull from pages into air. Because there’s poetry in that which is unfair. Poetry in the fact that death can bring people together despite the heartbreak. Poetry in the realization that some people will abuse the only partners they have in this world. Poetry in the girls who refuse to eat because society told them that hungry is synonymous with weak. Poetry in the boys trade kindness for cruelty because they were convinced it would give their likeness a better quality. There’s poetry in there and there’s poetry in the warfare.

And yeah… you might not see it but it’s you too. In the way that you grew and memories you’ve accrued in all the things you wish you could do… and it may sound crude but it’s in the statistical probability that you were the ***** that actually got through and this was the poetry event that you chose to go to.

This is why I seek art in words, ‘*** there’s as much poetry around us as there is blood in the world. It’s beauty in the overlooked and understanding in the mistook. If you feel anything that’s poetry!
If you love or fear something, the ecstasy or anxiety is poetry! Even if you feel nothing. Even if you wish to leave this life. There’s poetry in your strife.

I am no superhuman. No prophet, no hero. Just a man with words on a page. But with all this poetry in my head, I no longer fear death. Because if where I rest is in the deep space, if somewhere across this earth I find myself misplaced, if today is truly that final time you see my face,
there will be poetry in my place.

I wanna express my gratitude... to the few of you who didn't think I was too young or naieve to give advice. As a person with my analytical mindset, I love problem solving. I told my uncle that I have a weird affinity for broken women. I love people with stories to tell. Love the way legs can still stand despite the struggle. Love watching people break away from their own tragerdies.  I love the thought you can dilute a great concentration of pain with just a little bit of kindness. Like liting candles in pitch black spaces, it only takes something small. My uncle says it's because people like me are wired to seek out things that need solutions. That's not to say they can't find their own solutions. I just like to see if I can play a part. So like tatoo artists on surgey wards.  We sketch our art over people scars. Inject colour into their dark sides. Extend ourselves into their life lines.
We wanna fill what feels hollow.
Inscribe instrustions on how to smile and see if you'll follow.

And to anyone who thought what I said was good enough to act upon... thank you... and sorry.

Because hypocracy is a crime I practice all too often. Putting my own advice into application is extceedingly uncommon.
I would never take my own advice.

Because honesty with my loved ones would cause too much heart ache, I can not simply "just be open and real with her"
I cannot wear this skin with genuine pride because I would never "just be yourself man".
And despite the words falling falling out my mouth as we speak, why the **** would I understand "you are your own worst enemy.  If you'd just believe in yourself you'd be surprised with what you can achieve".
To the many or the few who took my advice.
Who rolled the dice, who paid the price.
A penny for my thoughts  and whether every thing changed or if all was for naught.

Maybe we just need to hear someone else say it. We so often are expected too try and stand tall in a world with ceilings that are too small. All some of us need, is to know that we're saying the right things.

So for everytime I was never told, I'm telling you. Let our voices be glitter and our ears be glue. Let people sparkle! Entice their shine so brlightly that they startle. Tell people all things you wanted to hear.

On Saturday the 7th of November, I had a small panic attack when a man approached me at the till wanting to buy paracetamol.

It’s official. You broke me. Now in retrospect I saw this coming. Falling for someone who wants to leave this place means I should not be surprised if you try to take steps outside but… that doesn’t change the facts.
You broke me. Broke me like the photos frames of all the people I thought you were still living for. Broke me like the hinge on the door after  forcefully trying escape so many times.

You broke all of my security. The last person who put this many dents in my armor spend 5 years starving themselves on a hospital ward. And I can’t look at her anymore because I’m thinking about you.
Thinking about the scars on your thighs. The lines under your eyes. How hard it is to sit on your bed because it feels too much like sitting on a grave…
but how beautiful you are all the same. You broke me more efficiently than any other.
You will talk to me about anything, except the overdosing. So here is my conversation. Here is me asking what is wrong? Here is me asking how did your sister react. This me saying I would do anything to see you smile. So to knows you are still hurting, breaks me!

But **** this ****. I wanted to write something happy so here I go.

You know that one softer yellow tile up at the tram stop on fletcher gate. Man’s a ******* boss.
It's meant to help blind people see but between you and me, I think it’s meant to spread a little glee. It’s squishy… and that makes me happy.

Reminds me that in a world of callous skin and rough edges there are people who take pledges. People who vow that somehow, here and now is the time to make a difference. Send assistance to the hopeless so they can focus on their brilliance.

And that’s what I wanna do. I’m not here guilt you. Not here to shed light on the fact that depression is depressing for more souls than the just the one diagnosed. I’m here because I want to be. I wanna duck and weave between your plight and grief. Sit relief and self-belief on you back seat. I wanna remain upbeat when you sing songs of defeat. I want to be there despite you feeling weak. I wanna hide step ladders in your sheets so when you wake up in the morning you feel as though there is no goal you can’t reach.

I wanna teach you how to smile. Teach you that just like the one yellow tile, you can feel so down that may already appear like part of the ground but you can still be wonderful and brave. That more and more reasons to smile can be discovered or made.

I’m sorry it’s easier to say than to do. And keeping it together was easier for me than you. But this is how I pick up the pieces. This is what I want to teach you.

If I go to a party, and see at least one girls ***, that day will be my best day of that season.

I’d drink myself to the point where the toilet could be advertised as a painkiller. But **** standing up, It’s not that I don’t trust my aim, I just like to keep things as clean as possible.

I often find myself apologizing for actions the morning after inebriation. It’s weird. I’ve grown old enough for understand consequences but not enough to try and and avoid them.
Old enough to regret the relationships I’ve destroyed then still find time, to break down a few more.

I’m still scared of commitment. I’ll spend 2 years learning to love all of your facets and flaws, but spend so much more of that time looking for a cause.
Exploring why I bother to love anyone when I feel so insecure. You’re affection may grow but I’ll never feel sure. It all becomes a chore. Asking you to outline whatever good in me you thought you saw. But sometime or later I’ll be asking for a redraw.

It’s a funny word ‘insecure’. It’s funny that even with all the nightmares we’ve been through. The experiences we’ve accrued. The places we’ve had to get to, Your deepest fears will always be about you.
You and your expectations you feel you must attain.
You and your image you present to those who judge.
You and your aptitude for keeping those you love happy.

Even now. I’m only saying this because I’m scared I’m far too immature for life I lead,
and I know anyone else in my position would want to hear these words.


Mistakes are as natural as breathing.
With both it is imperative that at some point you must let go. You must exhale and exorcize what is unnecessary from your body. You must learn to forgive yourself.

2. Unsurity is the siamese twin of certainty.
Before you come to a decision you must be comfortable in the knowledge you will never know what the future holds  but if you ever want to move forward, it requires that all important first step... so put your best foot forward.

and 3. Bolster yourself. Be proud in the understanding that your 2 feet hold a place in this world that no else can fill. That everyday you live is your opportunity to bend the universes will. That live may not be a continuous thrill but boy is it scary!
You have a lifetime of wishes to fulfill.
So settle down. Life is a series of small discoveries. No one expects you to find everything.
All we ask is that you don’t ever stop looking.

I use to stand in the middle of the road, just so she'd see how if feels.. to think that you could lose someone at any moment.

Exacting this kind of revenge is impossible if your target is someone you love so instead… you must tug on their heart strings.
This… is for you...
This is for the chosen few that never knew they had a blurred view. This for all those who withdrew themselves from the belief that they were cared about. This is for all those who dared to doubt. Paint us as the visually impaired scouts send out to find something valuable in you. This… is for everyone were still clinging to, and everyone else who fell through.

Machines break sometimes. When something is used frequently it has the potential to encounter hiccups in its regular cycle... and I am yet to find a machine more complex than the human body. And as forgiving and loving individuals we understand that these things take time. But not everyone sees those stood by their side. When someone loses their heart or their mind you'll often find… they lose their eyes. This is for the human beings who live like mechanics. Fashion spare for those with broken hearts. Sewing handles on their own bodies when others feel they have nothing to hold on to. This is for anyone finding reasons for someone else to smile.

We are so protective of those we love because we understand how much of them make up ourselves. This is for the mothers who ask ‘Are you sure?’ after they receive an answer to the question ‘Are you okay?’ This is for the parents of dead youths who slipped away from us far too prematurely. This is for anyone who hears a buried name and sings the phrase ‘if only!’. Because if only we had known, if only we could have done something, if only you had spoken to us, if only you were still here… This is for Anthony... whose gravestone flower bed is still kept watered by the tears of my brother and my sister. This is for all those who suffered in silence, the victims of violence the play things of tyrants whose sadness grew like a virus. Their minds start riots.

For those who feel alone... I do not mean sound angry. But it’s not your decision to choose to what extend we will love you. We love you! Love you like it hurts! and it does hurt because finer points of suicide are… when you hang yourself, you do it by the heartstrings of other people! Whatever toxic substance you choose to line your throat with will leave an unending hiccup in the throats of those who spoke your name with some semblance of joy. However many painkillers you take in under 60 seconds will never be enough to alleviate the affliction you leave behind. This is for we. We the engineers of empathy, we the deciphers of understanding, we the overflowing, we… who just want to help.
It’s complicated. I know we might never understand. But we all have better things to do'' than argue about how it would feel without each other.
So if you know someone… who feels alone…. tell them... “shhhhhhhh”
Then….. hold them.

If you stay awake with me long enough to watch the sky give birth to the colour blue, long enough to watch the moon finally deny it's 7th encore that night... if you stay awake with me long enough to see the streetlamps go out... I will be 6 feet under before I forget your name.

It's ironic really. Had actually been that far underground your sound would still pound across every surface it found including... my sleeping skin... and in the face of anyone who asked you, "Are you trying to wake the dead?.." you'd say no... the people at this party are already taking a break from living... the dead you speak off is everyone dancing, everyone singing, everyone drinking and getting really ******* annoyed at the one guy with all the red shells in super Mario kart. This is our Día de los Muertos. Our day of the dead, organized by the dead for the dead. Death was seen as the ultimate escape, but we're too young for those kind of commitments, so we fled the world in what little ways we could. Often found in bottles or cans, or in the arms or hands of others. Some get lost in the beat, let it travel from our ears to our feet. Greet our friends in dance moves as if there is so much noise in the air, it's the only language we can still communicate in. I ... invite you to the sofa... where there is already a gamepad with your name on it, and what we play is never nearly as important as the fact that we're playing. However... at some point I will expect you to play super smash brothers and if you dare pick Zero Suit Samus I will call you a ***** and show you the grave error of your decision... Unless you beat me, at which point I will commend your skills with the utmost sincerity... *****....

Regardless that's my 2nd favorite thing about parties. The thing I love most are all the people being more than how they appear. Spilling life stories of their glories and tragedies, watching the guy with the with the topknot become the warrior who survived several broken bones after a motorbike crash. See the girl who loves flapjacks become the next Beyonce in the making hear her voice light fires in the in the minds of those who had forgotten what talent looks like outside a TV screen...

See the the one in the corner with a mouth like a clam shell, finally show her pearls. She told me told me about all the things that were hurting. All the people she's scared of losing all the drugs she was using and all the people here... who were amusing. The fact that she can feel so broken but still hold herself together here was a greater compliment than anything her clam shell mouth could articulate. She had finally explained all the bruising, all the excusing, all the substance abusing and she found it confusing that I was still approving. I said 'tonight what you told me was moving. You've proven you're more human than what people have been assuming so.... smile for me' ... It will be a long time before I forget your name so I want whatever I remember of you to be good.

If you stay awake with me long enough to teach me 1 reason you're hurting but two more why you can keep smiling, long enough to have us make memories out of cheese burgers and tap water, Carl, Danni, Matt, Alex, Eden, Jade, Sean, Sebastian, Katy...  If you stay awake with me long enough to watch the street lamps go off, I will never forget your name.