Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

“O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn—
O when shall I return again?”

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

“Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star.”

Anorexia was the most attentive
Girlfriend anyone could ask for
And I fell hard for her
I fell for for 500 calories a day,
The sense of control it gave me
Compliments from girls I'd never talked to before
Doctors so pleased that I was finally "healthy"
That feeling,
Of stepping on the scale
And realizing that I took up less space
Than when I'd stepped on the day before
The feeling of water hitting an empty stomach
The hunger pangs
That secretly thrilled me
The thrill of the lies
The ones that became ever so easy
To slip off my tongue
The thrill of a secret love affair with death
I fell for an abuser
I fell...
Literally
Bruises lined my body
From bumping into walls
Because my body was so
Malnourished I couldn't
Walk down a hallway
Fell down a rabbit hole-
Fell down into a world I couldn't escape-
Thigh gaps, thinspiration, tips and tricks to
Hide this wonderland in your head
Walking headfirst into Anorexia was like walking
Into a haunted house
It's fun and exhilarating at first
It's a game, it's harmless
And then you realize that the doors
Are barred and it dawns on you
That ringing the doorbell of death
Was not the best idea
I am a study in skinny does not make you happy
The 5 pounds you wanted to lose
Turns to 10
Turns to 20
Turns to...
I am a study in
Every inch of your body being a warzone
Of standing in front of a mirror
Seeing nothing but a piece of meat
Taking up too much space
I am a study in calculation
I am a study in lying
I am a study in not dead, but not alive
I am a study in starvation
I am a study in falling out of love

To all of you who feel hurt and pain.
Who felt they weren't part of the game.
Who felt so ashamed.
When they were called a name.

Who felt the stab of pain.
With everything to lose and nothing to gain.
Who thought they were to blame.
And they were the ones who weren't sane.

Who feel they cause the pain.
Names branded on skin by the heat of a flame.
They wanted you to be the same.
Toe the line fit the frame.

You don't have to feel the pain.
No longer need to feel the shame.
The fact that you are not the same.
Makes you special worth more than just a name.

what do you know about love until you not only feel it but it slams into you and knocks the wind out of your lungs but what do you know about pain until he's gone and slams the door behind him and it knocks the wind out of your lungs in a whole different way so you start to fill them with smoke instead and he never wanted you to smoke but what's the difference now that he's gone and you're left choking on the memories and the words left unsaid gripping a bottle of ***** and he's choking on her tongue

The earth is robotic,
spinning, ironic,
nothing is different,
nothing makes a difference.

I often infer the truth,
but prefer not to talk to you,
so I will continue to assume,
that there is nothing in common between us two.

Love is a victim,
of a commercialist vision,
of red hearts and Hallmark cards,
Disney movies and lonely bars.

I try not to notice,
but these people they don't know this,
so they walk like they're robots,
smile and make small talk.

I pray that one day,
it will all go away,
that our interests will align,
be not robotic but sublime.

And the earth it will spin,
not on gears but on a whim,
it would all be much less formal,
it would all just be normal.

In this world
Weeds are worshiped as beautiful
Roses are cast to compost as a vulgarity

In this world
Worms matter the most
consuming roses
one of their favorite past times
one of their favorite foods

The greater the ****’s ability
to choke the rose
the greater the ****’s glory

In this world
Roses are hated
especially their thorns.


©Christopher F. Brown 2015

The wind's blustery paw mauled the night
rattling slack shutters and
shuddering corrugated roofs
like small change.
Sodden leaves congregated
in walled corner pockets,
praying for a last crack at dryness
and the playful kick and crunch of kids' feet.
Stray tomcat slunk
beneath
an s.u.v.
cowering at the naked trees
whose limbs fumbled drunkenly.
Not quite Munch's infinite scream,
but the closest thing I want to see
this night.