"You eat too much"
I've ate twice in the past week
and I've threw up the first time
I've lost 10 pounds
throughout the past few months
I only weigh 91 pounds now
It isn't my fault,
that I have to eat...
I've ate twice,
this week.
and I didn't finish either meal..
but yet I eat too much...
Here, just let me stop eating
maybe then you'll see
the thoughts inside my head
are enough for me

Am I fat? No, not really. Am I unhappy with my body? Yes. Am I ugly? I think so, but beauty is differentiated in everyone. Am I a good friend? I'd like to say so. Am I smart? I'd like to think so, but no. Am I talented? Hell no. Am I shy? Overbearingly. Am I annoying? Yeah, probably. Am I happy with myself and my personality? No. Should I be? Everyone should.

I'm the kind of person
who only stays around long enough to help someone
and to put them on their feet
and help them realize,
how good they can be
and when they leave,
I smile and I wave
because what I'm here to do
is help
and I know I'm going to be left in the dust
and that's alright by me.
As long as I can help you,
that's all I need

My life is a song
with a repetitive chorus
sang by a tone-deaf artist,
with no taste in lyrics.
Meaningless words
in an empty space,
just filling up the time
in between places.
My life is a song
with a meaningless chorus,
with words that don't mean a thing
to anyone but me.
My life is a song,
that will become someone's favorite,
my life is a song,
that someone hears every day.
My life is a song,
that I'm going to dance to.

A little bit ago,
I found a notebook.
And inside,
was notes from you,
the lyrics of your favorite song
sprawled out on a page,
written in blotchy black ink,
and a combination
of your messy but pretty hand,
and my sloppy one.
Random quotes from our time together,
staring at me.
Everyone asks me if I regret us,
and the answer is always no.
I'll never regret the times we had,
and I have let go.
Since then we've stayed friends,
and I wouldn't change a thing.
Just a little bit ago,
you messaged me.
Just a little bit ago.

She likes fashion and interviews. I like getting lost.
Sometimes she grabs my bulge,
as she drinks from an aluminum flask.
She told me to rhyme something with 'flask'.
I said, "Fine. In your life, you've been wearing a mask.
But I can see. And you can see. They can't see.
That you are a detached, blond doll
and your back is against the wall,
as I kiss your neck until you're dead."
She said to rhyme something with 'dead'.
I said, "Fine. You ******* in my head.
And it's quarrelsome
that they don't see that you're numb.
I'd pull on your lip, with my teeth.
Dig my hand between your legs.
Just to make you feel. Just to make you feel.
And I study your hairbrush
to see that there are too much
strands of memories from melodies
that lay dormant in ballrooms
and scented kisses
that drip of the misses
in your life and mine."
She said **** me with your words.
I refused because I'd rather watch her bloom
in my dreams than the seams of
a fiber noose that rings loose
the bell in your neck
that sounds until birds fly
and we die-
You look at me,
"Home."