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Malina May 2020
it's so tiring,
this back and forth in my brain.

i want to be better.
i want to be content
just as i am.
i want to be able to exhale,
and shut out the voices that tell me otherwise.
but they overpower me.

"my stomach looks good today",
"my legs aren't huge",
"i'm not ugly",
i try to say as my hands tell a different story.
grabbing at fat and skin,
trying to find any imperfection to prove me wrong.
and this is where the confusion starts:
looking in the mirror.

what do i look like?
how should i feel?
am i actually fat?
am i deluded to think i might not be?
i have no idea the answer to any of those questions
and millions just like them scream at me.
every minute.
every day.

if i am fat,
should i be trying to lose weight?
or should i try to accept how i look?

i try to be better,
to cope,
but i don't know which voice is right.
i don't know who to listen to.
and i'm trapped in this in between.

it's ******* exhausting so someone just tell me what to do
I needed to get these thoughts out of my head and onto a page
quiet in body
never felt
connection in reflection
never seen
harmony in surface and mind
never realized.

what is real? I cannot see, neither feel.
what I see, likewise feel —is not real?

back against the wall, cracked.

a chorus of blood
chants incessantly under skin
in the tunnels of my wrists
a buzzing
I am encased in this unsound flesh of sin, crawling
fingers of insanity
all I can do is destroy (myself)
the ritualistic obsession
the control seduction
compulsively constructing my own deconstruction
a dance —just enough to relive pain in living
sweating and dizzy in exhaustible effort I am, lost
in the hunt
to conquer my body like a continent
assimilation with a world where  
all flesh is but wax and tactless camouflage  
painted cheeks fall like petals  
hair like wheat severs from heads
and bones rust like guns that drain away blood—

my brain collapses inwards.

I strive towards completion but in reaching it find
I am already dead.
Ellis Holden Jul 2019
First it was my arms
I didn't even realize what was happening
I thought this was normal
tank tops, shirts with quarter sleeves
fill with big blaring X

Then it was my back
and the fat it grew
I can fist it in my hand
But it still hangs loose

It has to consume me
I catch myself in the mirror
once, twice, forty-six
sun sets, rises, repeats
I can see my roundness now

Then my thighs
I thought I was over-weight
all consuming
If i didn't care about other's shape
why mine?
I the ugly duck in see of swan
my shorts sit in blue plastic bags in good will truck

Once I have torn everything in me apart
It is just my BDD

where did I go
Poetress2 Dec 2018
The mirror is my enemy,
its' reflection makes me cry;
For what I see, looking back at me,
is a Monster in disguise.
I avoid them like the plague,
I'd like to take them down;
'Cause every time, I look inside,
my heart falls to the ground.
A false view of myself,
is all I ever see;
For every time, I pass one by,
depression visits me.
I'd like to shatter all of them,
but it wouldn't change a thing;
So I will still avoid them,
I hate everything I see.
This is about a disorder I have...BDD.  It stands for...Body Dysmorphic Disorder.  I can't see what I truly look like, for my reflection is distorted.
Meadow Oct 2018
Trapped in a mindset of fantasy.
Cradling beliefs with no foundation in reality.
Alone in a mind of oil.
Staining all who brave my touch.
Familiar faces soaked in anxiety.
They stare with memories I long to forget.
These glossy eyes that fear closing.
Worlds will fall.
Perceptions will alter.
These words are caught in my throat.

How do I say Hello?
How do I keep the conversation going?
Are they staring at me because they know I'm not normal?
Can they see my disfigured soul hiding beneath this skin?
This deformed skin...
Do they notice that I am an imposter?
Do they see how I react alien to how they do?
How I second guess each expression?

Words fall from my eyes without allowance.
The connection isn't there.
I stare down.
Drowning them with every glance.
Words fall.
Making oceans of unspoken phrases.
They breathe me in.
All the words I've never spoken.
They drown in my delusions.
And run away like mad men.
To a world, I can't seem to be a part of.

Trapped in a mindset of fantasy.
Oil drowns me and dilutes my words.
Taking away who I am.

My words are my life.
But, I cannot speak them.
Nikita Jul 2018
The mirror is just a broken lens
not by you, but by others
Causing more than
five years of bad luck

Without even touching the mirror
Body Dysmorphic Disorder is more common than people like to admit.
NM Feb 2018
Dear you in the mirror,
I don't understand;

Myself on the other side.
Struggles with BDD
NM Sep 2017
Left over from the fear and pain, now the results across and all over my arms,
Oh, how on days that are the coldest, these scars have kept me warm.

Lines and lines of everything left unsaid,
From the deepest of emotions in turmoil, to the tears that soaked my bed.
A single blade to help me speak, to help me fight with insanity,
Who is it again now, that I am trying to free?

Maybe one day I won't have so many,
So many I cannot count,
Whoever is looking back in the mirror, is not me in a single doubt.
Nora Mar 2016
bone against skin
jutting out, thin --
i want a gaunt glow
where my cheekbones show
without contour

if running from my issues
keeps me trim,
and tiny meals
make me slim
i’ll keep grinding until
my hip bones pop --
and when i’m dead is when i’ll stop
Nora Feb 2016
My bottom blossoms
When I sit atop the
Bed and fine red lines
Run down its sides.
If this is the marking
Of a budding woman,
Then let me proudly
Display my vines.
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