Her body was fragile, her body was thin
Little did we know; she threw up in the bin.
It was all in her mind “pretty girls don’t eat”
And models themselves are always petite.
But there’s always a secret, a secret behind
The reason why these girls declined
The food they were offered and the drinks they were poured
And the high calories dishes were always ignored.
Dieting and pills became the norm
And the media portrayed it as a new art form.
But this “new art form” was a dangerous entity
And no one knew its true severity
Of this illness that gets in your head
And the sinister voices that want you dead.
But you listen to them as they’re your only friend,
The ones that will be there to the very last end.

She battles her demons, day in, day out.
They don’t stay quiet, they scream and shout.
They tell her she’s ugly, they tell her she’s fat.
Her thighs are too big and her stomach’s not flat.
She starves herself but that’s not enough.
This desire to be thin has proven to be tough.
It’s making her miserable, it’s making her sad.
The quicker the weight loss, it won’t be as bad.
But the weight is staying and it won’t disappear.
She’s taking it to the extreme
And she’s making it clear
That she wants to be thin
And thin she will be.
But what you don’t know is that girl is me.

Taking me out to dinner
See the story play out in your eyes,
Said you miss the way I'd lay in your lap,
When I'm not with other guys.

They feel different than you though,
It all tastes the same,
T hey get all tied together,
They're just faces and names.

But you got the lit cigarette out the window,
And words flooding books,
I think I'm getting too old to base love all on looks.

And so I fell asleep on your chest,
In the same car as times before,
Until I woke up to you sighing,
"I don't even know what we are anymore."

Words kept rolling off your tongue,
Escaping your lips,
Like you were holding in all night to tell me all of this.

Said we were always leaving,
Together and then parting ways,
But when would be the time we would both decide to stay?

Now would be my answer,
But you left me on open ends,
So I just paused and you stared at me,
"Babe, are we just friends?"

Pink ballet tights don't hide cuts.
Leotards black as smoke don't conceal all the regrets I have swallowed.
My perfect bunhead doesn't pull together all the loose ends of my mind.
I'm sorry mom that somewhere between your migraines and stress your daughter ran into the bathroom.
I'm sorry Dad that you try so hard and you always end up with ***** ups.
I was supposed to be the perfect one.
I have tried to be perfect for so long.
I gave up when I learned that society feeds us chocolate covered concrete.
I gave up when the sun went down and the moon never came up.
I gave up when the mirror started to grab my eyes and made me stare.
I gave up when I couldnt give up.
Now I'm just trying to appear perfect.
I'm faking everyone out
I'm so fun to talk to
I'm such a happy girl
Mom I will do ballet and help you clean
Daddy I will run so you can be proud
You deserve to be proud of something
I'm just sorry that it has to be fake.
I don't know how long this will go on
Just try to enjoy the show while it lasts.

My mind is like a war zone but without the ammunition.
The thoughts are like a solider on a search and destroy mission.
The guns are like the process that puts thoughts into my head.
The bullets are like the voices that say they want me dead.
My mind is like a war zone and I’m a prisoner of war.
Serving a life sentence, I can’t take it anymore.
It’s a fight that needs to end, that needs to end right now.
If only I had willpower and if only I knew how.

February 5th?! Already?!
This day...
It's nothing more than another ordinary
Thursday.

Ask me what I want for my birthday...
All I have to tell you is,
You.

I just want you to be
*Safe
And
Happy.

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.