simply put: i feel like people hate me.
it's this paranoia that i can't talk about with people because they won't understand.
they won't understand the way my lungs feel like they're on fire, and the way that my throat feels tight as though a noose is wrapped around it. they won't understand the way i try to stay as quiet as possible, try not to make a peep. try not to cough, try not to sigh, not a peep.
i am good at keeping quiet even though i am full of words. i don't speak because nobody cares enough to listen anyway. i wouldn't want to waste anyone else's time.
simply put: i wish i was happy.
simply put: i don't want to be the failure kid anymore.
simply put: please help me.

Last night,
I got out a bottle of Jack Daniels,
a blanket, an old stereo,
shaved everywhere,
lit candles in the house,
he’d told me he was coming over,

I thought about how we would sit outside on the porch,
I thought about how we would drink whiskey,
I thought about how we would kiss.

Our kiss wouldn’t have been an ordinary kiss,
Our kiss would lead him to realize I was who he wanted.

He never came over.

I finished all the Jack Daniels on the porch,
listened to the metal on the swing grind
as I pushed back and forth.

This morning I began to read my book for school,
“The Tupinamba were known to be cannibals.”
I wonder if he is just scared that’s why,
“They loved human flesh.”
During the show last week I know saw him looking at me the whole time,
“The fingers and grease around the liver were specialties, saved for distinguished members.”
I’ll wear my new jeans tonight at the party, they make my **** look good,
“The smaller muscles in the legs were distributed equally among the children.”
But.. he said he likes that black dress of mine… I'm going to wear that,
“Old women rushed to drink the warm blood.”
 I put down the book.

Outside my window the rain came in louder waves.
Tonight would be cold.
Showing my legs would be ridiculous.

so this isn't really a poem buuuuut i need to rant so yaaah

let's talk about the boring part of eating disorders, the parts that are never thought of because they seem absurd, or maybe they don't seem absurd, maybe they are so minuscule that they aren't even thought of...until you go through with it. how about the part where some days, you're doing so well. you eat. and you actually WANT to eat more. the thoughts of not eating aren't there because for a little bit, you're feeling comfortable in your own skin. you think, "hey.. i must be cured!" THENN the other days. the days you're all alone all day, with your thoughts only. when you eat, but are instantly full. wellll, maybe you aren't full, but your mind has decided enough is enough.  but of course, you have to eat... so you do. you entertain your thoughts. you remember why you feel so body confident, so happy/satisfied in your skin. it's because of the progress you've made throughout the years. the hard work you've put into your body............but you can't give up. so you don't. you sit and sulk "will this meal change my body?" and you know that that ONE meal won't, but it's the fact that you'll have to say that..everyday... and that adds up

Is it okay, if i go ahead and say thank you to everyone? This isn't necessarily a poem but more of a little letter.

Dear you,

Thank you so much for your feedback, whether it was negative or positive. Either way, it's helped me learn new ways on how to write better poetry. I really want to thank those who have been giving the most lovely comments and everything. You guys literally always make my day when you do so. When i first joined, i never expected i would recieve really honest and kind feedback. It's almost as if though im on a stage and you guys are my rad audience. Its great to see that people like, relate, or even enjoy my poetry. You guys are amazing and rad and fab and everything. So yeah, thank you!