i thought the braces would have stopped those people from talking
i thought starving myself would have made me feel good
i thought ripping open my veins would take away all of the pain
i thought boyfriends were supposed to compliment you
i thought my parents would be proud of me

maybe one day when my hair falls perfectly and my thighs don't touch
i won't think as much

I'm not going to fall in love with a boy that has better hair than me
- I have secret conversations with you in my head, they always go in the right direction when I control both sides
- When I look in your eyes I see cloudy stars with bright days in the future, when you look in mine all you can see is you

“I want my ears to be your journal.”
“I’d rather you cut my wrist than yours.”
“Your wrists are beautiful; don’t add another scar to them.”
I sat on the edge of your couch
playing “Chasing Cars”
and I look over to see you tearing up.
I don’t know how to explain
the connection that I feel to you.
I’ve known you for a few months
but it feels like a lifetime,
and yet so much of you remains undiscovered.
I want to discover you
discover your body
discover your heart
discover your soul
piece by piece,
your personality is an enigma,
a mystery,
one that I’d love to unravel-
but never all the way
because hey,
what’s the fun in that, right?
“Any time you want this, I’m game.”
“Sit back, relax. This is about you.”
“Your body is a temple;
I’m focusing on making my way towards the treasure.”
I’m so used to jumping in
doing everything at once
figuring out where we go from there
but the moment I mentioned that you said,
“**** that.”
Slow,
sweet,
sensational,
kind, loving, caring, gentle-
not rough, not hard, not *****,
just us.
Just looking and seeing a person
you love so **** much
that you trust so completely,
“I felt comfortable.
Comfortable being with you,
comfortable being me.”
“I love everything about you.
Even the hard spots on your fingers,
the calluses from playing guitar
because it’s another thing that connects us.”
I explain to you that in my mind,
*** means love,
and that’s why I’m coming on so strong
but later on
Hands trailing over scarred skin
and a smile that says, “I’m here for you,”
a pair of lips that whispers,
“I’ll never leave you”,
the push and pull of your calloused fingertips
on my hips,
your breath in my ear,
my hands running along the curves of your back
I am in love with you.
I would say I have loved you to the point of madness
but that would be an understatement.
I have lost myself in your gaze,
gasped at your soft touch and
I have loved you beyond madness-
in a good way.
Let’s lay here in eachothers’ arms
outside at midnight
and listen to Shinedown
as the moon shines down
accentuating the labyrinth of smoke
around us,
let's chase cars around our heads,
let’s forget the world for one night.

Ana,
I used to play with you when I was younger.
I remember you were so proud
the first time I weighed 125,
I guess those stomach problems came in handy
for keeping you by my side,
I'd go days without eating,
and you'd smile.
I never let you influence me too much, though...
Not until now.
I've always had you on my mind.
You are inherently deadly,
you are addictive in your toxicity.

I'm not hungry.

I can't help but wonder when Mia
will get me on my knees again.

I'm not hungry.

I'm one of those people who
******* about romanticising mental illness
and eating disorders, yet here I am,
giving a name to you.

I'm not hungry.

All the poems about how my razor
takes my blood and breath but gives me life,
but I've written none about you for a while.
Blood drips from my arms and thighs
and, pinching the soft, scarred skin,
I think of you.

I'm not hungry.

You are a decidedly perfect example
of deadly willpower.
You are one of my several methods
of self-destruction
and yet another thing for me to fall in love with,
I am an addict itching for a bit
of self-hatred, and you are an easy fix.

I'm not hungry.

Maybe if I was just a little bit thinner,
then maybe I'd get there.

*I'm not hungry...

The stars lean down to kiss you and I lie awake and miss you. Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere. The silence isn't so bad until I look at my hands and feel sad. 'Cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly.

I recall those cosmic brownies from my childhood
and the little kool-aid drinks we picked out from the 7-11
with coins from the belly of our couch cushions.
Watching Judge Judy in the afternoons
on grandma's squishy sofa
thinking that 'law' and 'court'
were words you used when your room-mate
didn't pay her rent on time
or when your boyfriend used your credit card
to take out the ***** from down the street.
So we plucked the feet off the daddy-long-legs
and lit ants on fire
when the swimming pool was closed.
Names like
Charles Manson
Ted Bundy
never sparked fear in our bodies
never bred anger or sadness in our hearts.
So we crawled through our tunnels past youth and adolescence
awoke to a world where
men and women
who slaughtered dozens of innocents like cattle
are being served breakfast by the men and women we trust
to keep us safe at night
while we sleep in our soft beds
more vulnerable
than the devils who leave us in fear.