Euphoria
It is a word
That means
absolute
and total
happiness
excitement
ecstasy
and joy
It explains
a feeling
of immense pleasure
this feeling
I know
when I touch
my bones
delicate
and hard
beneath my skin
it's not as if
I reach through
and find them
between the sinew
and skin
No, they rise
to meet me
as every day
I eat a little less
and each day
the bones
so pale and white
they show
just a little bit more
My collarbones
start to press
against my skin
as if pressing
through paper
my ribs
straining
against my skin
so delicate
or at least,
they will become so
my hips
will jut out
just a bit more
and my stomach
better than flat
it is concave
although
it only becomes so
when i lay down
but perhaps
if I run
an extra mile
today
then tomorrow,
I will see them
each day
I go to work
counting
religiously counting
calories, bites, chews
cups, pounds, ounces
I carefully measure
each aspect
of who I am
because I am not
who I want to be
yet
but I will be
If I control
what I do
then I can control
Who I am
And if you can see
the sunset
between my thighs
and the mug
between my fingers
on a cold morning
sipping coffee
black and bitter
I will be good enough
for just a moment
a breath
a fleeting second
in my eternity
I will be okay
because I am enough

Oh
to be the girl in those adverts ,
Light,
skinny,
beautiful
A tragic line
to every gentle rib
I fetishise her fragile fingers
A monstrous beast reflected in the mirror, the worst possibility.

Tis poetic, there she stares
Says her lines; remaining fair,
Into my face, My acting is heavy handed and awkward
She’s a consumable reality,
She’s easy on the eyes
The fragile female,
salvageable.

We are a tragedy of ages, her Juliet, I Faustus
They silently boo while I slop onto the stage
A lazy slob,The **** of society, just don’t eat you fat ****. men like curvy girls We don’t want to see you, You’re so brave!  You’re the problem, it’s not hard hide your mass from view, unkempt, repulsive, vile. hide yourself it offends my sharp eyes.
I open my drooling mouth to speak, but there are chins smothering my mouth
My eyes clouded by greasy cellulite
I don’t want to exist like this.

So just stop eating.


I’d give an arm and a leg,
my pale teeth,
my parasitic possibility
my child

It started again in July
The warm weather could never lift my spirits
As I have always been cold from the inside
Out, let me out
I’ve been trapped in a snowstorm since I was nine
Shivering in the warmth from the ice in my veins
The tsunami started in the school bathroom
After following my sister to the bathroom after dinner time
Night after night peeking through the cracks
To see her methods
The acidic volcano laid dormant inside me for a couple of years
Until I began to grow
Sprouting towards the sky like a sunflower
All I could think about was my waist
I hated it, I tried every method to destroy myself
And the monstrous overgrowth that devoured my forever changing body
Until one day I didn’t feel how hungry I was
The growling was silenced
All I could hear was her harsh voice droning me through
Take another step, don’t fall down
115 pounds of pure solid ice
The way down my throat is slippery
My fingers thin bunched together for the warmth that they could provide each other
Water is the only thing that comes out
The voice still haunts me
And somedays I wonder why my garden of a body had to be denied of sunlight
When I embraced the freeze
And hurled my body through
Body, I am so sorry

i'm tired
i'm so ******* tired.
i didn't ask for any of it-
not the scars, not the pills,
not the anxiety
or obsession
or disordered thoughts
i never wanted this.
because when you're thirteen
you don't think that within the next three years
you'll have four mental illnesses.
nobody ever predicts that they'll have a collection of cuts,
of failed recoveries
and subsequent relapses.
nobody wants to be a burden.
nobody wants to be trapped in their own mind
and i can't tell if it's depression,
or the eating disorder
but God, i'm exhausted.
i don't want to carry this anymore.
(i never did.)

My lover has a scar
Just above her hipbone;
It's not a small ****,
a forgotten accident.
They're words -
Straight lines she etched
Deliberately,
Slowly,
Painfully.

I trace my fingers softly,
Not to wake my love,
But I can't soften their bite.
Words of cruel warning,
An order, imperative.
Commanding, even faded,
Echo a silent scream.

They mock me, mock us,
For they still have a hold:
She is only half mine.
They hurt me, cold,
Like unblinking eyes,
Knowing that she stares back
Every day.

I barely brush them,
Intruders on soft skin,
Indelible scripture
Of darkness within.

And they keep whispering:
don't eat.

I fashioned myself a dress of black lace;
Dark and elegant, epitome of grace;
Soft on my skin, caress like a lover's,
My comfort, my design, a haven of covers.

They called it macabre - filled them with unease;
Dangerous, they said, termed it a disease.
And yes, I'm unwell, but darkness is my veil -
A reprieve from hell, solace without fail.
I am the tailor, the sculptor of shadows,
The reaper of melancholy my art sows.
And yes, it is odd, fragile, morose -
The marble thorns of an obsidian rose.

The judging whispers that follow in my wake,
Can't comprehend I do this for my sake:
The sharp edges they call jarring and cold -
They are my palace, impenetrable stronghold.

Where others see emptiness, I notice lace,
The gossamer threads of a misty embrace;
They are but blind to the kingdom of nothing,
Only see moats, and wall canons jutting.
My castle of ghosts, the court I control,
Those remain hidden, deep in my soul.
The siren song, my foggy lullaby,
The velvety clouds on which my thoughts lie.
It is morphium, made in my mind
Embroidered dullness only I can find.
The words bounce off my protective bubble,
Your bombs shatter into a gray rubble.
I blow it away, along with my fears,
I got good at this, during the years.

Give me some credit, I am no fool,
Where others would drown, I can rule;
I know not to freeze, when water's too cool,
The fire you'd burn in, I use as fuel.

Yes, it's a thin line, I know it best,
But I'm a trapeze-artist, can pass the test;
A veteran of trade, the air is my nest,
I've learned to live without getting rest.

And I know my limits, how far I can press,
Worry you not, I've survived on much less.
I'm not glass, disperse your concerns,
If need be, the lace to razor wire turns.

It is 10 pm and I’m shrinking again. the familiar shame that is causing me to concave, But I don’t want to die, just wanted to.

I am just tired of light feeling like cheating. I am tired of nutrients becoming a nuisance, Do you hear it snap and curl and twist inside you? or does your leaves get baptized with your healthy? can you grow without thinking about the darkness of your shadow? no? you mean you oxidize each exhale as if it was your own?