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Come back to me!
i hear your noise echo
back to me your sounds echos
but the reverberation back
leaves your echo

i know your at the end
of your dark dark tunnel. echoes
of your former self hanging
on the end of your rope.
Come back!

you want to give up,
lay on the hard black metal
and give up. your rope, it will
swing and hit me in its pendulum
the echo of how close I got
to lighting your way. you
reflected off the walls.

I almost had you back,
but it is so hard to see
down that dark dark tunnel
and like sonar I listen to you,
for you, for the swoosh of jeans.
but i don't know one sound
from the other you're so good
at hiding in your darkness.
Please. Come back to me,
whole because
i don't know
how much
by the darkness
and your echo
I don't know what I'd do if he made that choice.
First off, it won’t go away
Simple as that
It burrows inside your head
Like a Chinese finger trap
(I’ve never seen one but I know
what they are like)
Or perhaps a camel’s thorn
Another thing I’ve heard of

Occasionally you find relief
Maybe two minutes or even less
Maybe up to five hours
But it always comes back
At least for that day

You want to scream
To plead, to cry, to beg it to stop
But of course it won’t
It’s OCD, are you kidding?
Of course it won’t
No matter how hard you try
And believe me, you do try

You try not to compulse because
You know that’ll make it worse
You imagine a drill going
Through your brain, destroying your thoughts

It’s illogical, but that’s OCD
Normally, when things are illogical
You don’t trust them
You brush them aside
Knowing they aren’t true
That they can’t be

But with OCD you believe it’s true
And you don’t want it to be
And it might not be
But it also might be true
And as the day goes on
You’re more and more afraid
That it is

You live in fear of yourself
For you are hating yourself
Your possible truths
You tell yourself
That you aren’t your thoughts
Thoughts aren’t actions
But you can never be sure
Of what you think

It’s the doubting disease
Leaving scratches up your forearm
And that’s why
It’s ocd
I struggle with obsessive compulsive disorder. This is a poem I wrote a couple months ago, but I thought I‘d share it anyway. I’m in a better place now.
Sky 4d
If you could travel back in time
And meet yourself as a little child
What would you tell yourself?

If I could travel back in time
And meet myself as a little child
I would tell her, that she’s perfect just the way she is. That she’s fine.  She’s so fine, that she doesn’t need to be anything else.  Her small, growing body does NOT deserve to go through years of starvation and self-induced vomiting like it did.  She didn’t need to stick her fingers down her throat to look like a runway model, because she’s just fine.  

That little girl, laughing with big, doe eyes
And dewy lips coated in sugar
******* on lollipops and eating too many cookies with her friends, didn’t deserve this.  If only she knew that her happiness would be very short-lasting.  If she knew, she would’ve savoured those moments very dearly; but instead, she went on giggling in the sunshine, unaware that she will be lying in a hospital bed with a tube in her nose a few years later.

I would hug her, and hold her little 4’8 frame, and tell her that she needs to grow strong.  If you never eat, you never grow.  She needs to make sure her bones are iron-strong and her mind is sharp and fierce, and if she wants to chase her dreams, she can, and she can chase her dreams and achieve many things without needing to starve herself.  

Instead, she believed that skipping meals meant that she could conquer anything.  The only thing she would conquer is a trip to the ER and a near-death experience from malnutrition.  

Little girl with bright and peachy eyes,
Now that you don’t have to perfect, you can be good.
Sky 5d
Go out and buy yourself some diet pills
Take them for the purpose of a thrill
Exercise like it’s your religion
***** the good and bad decisions
Starving isn’t fun, but someone ought to do it
You were destined to be skinny and you knew it

Watch some fashion shows
Watch them thrice
Take all of their advice

Fat free, carb free,
Sugar and ice
Bread isn’t nice
***** rice
ALWAYS put up a fight

You want bread, it’s all in your head
You want to be fed, but you wish you were dead
You were born with a knife in your heart
As a child you were struck by a hundred darts, of the cruel words of society and of the jittery snicks of the sugar plum fairy girls, with their angelic faces and porcelain skin, black sockets for eyes and with the devil, akin.
Angels don’t exist here, only devils within.

Scrub your raw, bleeding gums
Until pretty girl juice dribbles from the razor sharp corners of your mouth
Trickling past your rotting teeth
Your skin, sallow and an expired yellow.
Purple spider veins strung out across your arms and legs, connecting the dots from the gaping stab wounds made by your mother’s sharp, bone-handled knife, which you snuck from the kitchen drawer.  Truly an antique. But now, antique and rusted with your blood.

Your mouth is filled with dirt and bugs
No more innocence, no more kisses and hugs
You aren’t your mother’s little girl anymore
You’re now the devil’s successful corpse

Dirt filled girls.  Dead rotting girls.
Expired girls.  Decomposing girls.
Hush, no one can hear you because
Dead, rotten girls can’t speak anymore
When they try to open their empty mouths, all that comes out are hollow screams and shrieks that pierce the void of the suffocating air in their coffin
Worms and roaches seep inside their bloated skin, making them itchy, itchy, itchy.
Dead, rotten girls can’t complain.
The devil’s thirst is quenched, and now he ate.
You begged for this fate.
Sky 5d
Diet cokes, menthol smokes
Flavoured water, sugar free gum
A bottle of liquor, and a bottle of Tums
Apple slices, plain lettuce leaves
Bitter black coffee, bitter green tea

Sugar free, dairy free, and fats aren’t very nice (BOTH fat and fats aren’t nice)
Carbs are the devil, so don’t be a rebel, and DON’T complain or put up a fight

Gluten free, soy free, and no I’m not allergic, these things are just extra ingredients that will pollute my insides and I NEED to be the closest living, breathing thing to emptiness as possible.

Whoever said to “accept yourself for who you are” has clearly never seen a model
The thinner is the winner, but in order to be thinner, you’ve gotta be a sinner,
Go against the rules of what everyone wants, because everyone wants you to stay fat and **** so that way they can be better than you.  

Whoever said to “love yourself” probably wants a skinny body, but they can’t refrain from the ice cream tub
Whoever said “all bodies are beautiful” just wants an excuse to eat more chocolate cake
Whoever said “Anorexia is a disease” clearly has never experienced the pure ecstasy that comes from fasting or feeling dizzy and thin at the same ******* time
Whoever said ”skinny doesn’t matter” clearly wasn’t skinny themselves, were they?

Whoever said “eating disorders ****”
Well... is right.
Dear 17 year-old Laura,

Don't worry so much about being perfect
Don't push yourself to get the highest marks you can get

You certainly don't have to do it all
You deserve a break, even if it's small

You're beautiful
I know you may not think that but it certainly is true
Inside and out
Beautiful, that's you

Ignore the imperfections you see in the mirror
For only you are able to see
The "too big stomach" and "jiggly thighs"
You're gorgeous as can be

I know you're scared to graduate
You became comfortable in high school,
But the world is so much bigger,
Adventure awaits you

Please don't think that you're ****
Boys will come and go
Focus on liking yourself
Though that's hard, I know

The summer did flash by for you
University hit you hard
Please don't be mad at yourself
For all your "unsightly lard"

You became ill and that's okay
None of this was your choice
It's not your fault you spiraled down
From listening to that voice

The hardest months of your life thus far
You sadly had to endure
Because you couldn't forgive yourself
Mental illness is a blur

Shame and stigma rotted your mind
Made you think this was your volition
Like someone gets cancer, you became sick
Becoming mentally ill wasn't a mission

Your life will slowly rebuild
The future will have ups and downs,
You should be incredibly proud of what you survived
Continue to fight those sounds
Sophie Kim Nov 28
breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as my stomach would growl in my nutritions class
and i learned to inhale sharply to somehow combat the noise
the noise of my stomach screaming to the world in that backstabbing way
that i am not eating breakfast
nor did i eat much of dinner
nor will i want to be able to stomach anything for lunch

“i’m completely normal”
my eating habits aren’t rapidly fluctuating
i’m not sleeping during completely random times of the day
trying to sleep off my body’s hunger
like i can sleep off frustration
(nutrients are a constant need
they don’t just stop being things you need
because you just don’t want anything
in your body anymore)

you used to want so much

what’s so baffling is that sometimes
hunger can feel like the muffled conversation
riddled with worry
hunger is the knocking on the door
telling you that it wants to come in
and you don’t want it to
but for a reason you know makes no sense
but it makes perfect sense in the moment

when your brain shakes hands with itself
and tells you that eating is for when the work is done
when the reward is deserved
that a need is a want
and needs are intangible things that keep you socially alive
rather than actually
and then you ask yourself
if you, wanting to feel alive
is the problem

when i don’t eat
i am empty
i don’t make ****** functions
because my body cannot function
and when i function,
my body is empty
and to keep my body empty
i do not eat

there is no beauty in feeling hollow

breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as i could barely stand up in a hot shower
as i could barely utter a conscious word
without overworking my brain
my brain that shakes hands with itself
to communicate with itself
that i do not deserve to eat food
i do not deserve to feel alive

i want eating
to feel normal
i want to put
priority on food
but i cannot bear
to feel present
but i cannot bear
to be present
when i do not
feel present
because i am
not present
i am not
Sky Nov 27
They say little sisters tend to follow in their older sister’s footsteps- at first.  

my little sister wanted to basically be me when she grew up.  

I wish I was a good big sister who taught her good things, like all the joy that life can bring.  And how to fly the highest on a swing.

Instead, she watched me binge, puke, starve, and cut.  
She watched me exercise when I had the flu.
She watched me deny food even when I passed out earlier.
She watched me scrape my dinner plate into the trash.
She watched me shove pieces of bread in my pocket.
She watched me scrub the toilet, sometimes the shower, clean of *****.
She watched me twist and contort in pain as I emptied my insides of all the laxatives I took.
She watched me suffocate my waist with measuring tapes and wrap gauze around the cuts I made on my stomach.  

“Go away”
“This is just what big girls do sometimes”
“I’m just getting rid of evil stuff inside me”
Are all the things I’d tell her.

Then I caught her puking.
I caught her skipping meals.
I caught her biting her cheek as she scraped the contents of her favourite dinner- lasagna- into the trash can.
I saw her shove corn in the pockets of her sparkly pink jacket.
I caught her wolfing down my pink laxative tablets.
I caught her struggling to open the cap of my diet pills.
I caught her fumbling with the measuring tape.
I caught her crying because she couldn’t wrap her whole hand around her upper thigh like me.

I caught her skipping jump rope at 2am.
I asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she said “a scale.”

I cried and shouted “why?”

“Go away” she’d scream
“This is just what big girls do, right? I’m a big girl now.” She’d pout.  
I saw her in the shower, clumps of hair stuck to the wall, and deep gashes all over her stomach and her rib cage.  

Mom and dad didn’t care.  They never did.   I was the only one there to really take care of her.  

“I just wanna be a pretty girl” she sobbed.  

“But you are a pretty girl!” I’d cry

“No I’m not.  You always call yourself ****, even when everyone else says your not.  So why shouldn’t I?” She asked.

My sister died in the bathtub.  Wrists slit, favourite nightgown on.  She was only twelve.  

I remember when I slit my wrists in the bathtub.  I didn’t die, but she was 8, and she found me.  There’s only one thing she did that I didn’t do- she succeeded.

All because I taught her, that it’s normal for big girls to do these things.

Her note said: “I was just trying to get rid of the evil inside me”

She should’ve seen me as a role model.   Instead, she just saw me as a model.
For sisters who lost their innocence by following in their older sisters footsteps
Sky Nov 27
I’ll take a black coffee with no sugar.  
It’s disgusting, yes, and quite bitter.
I force myself to consume the bland beverage
Because I just want to feel like a pretty girl.

Milk and sugar will make me fat.  
I know, because when I was a younger girl
I used to drown my coffee in milk,
Until my coffee was the colour of pasty-white
And then I poured in one too many sugars.
The thick and heavy kind, not lite™️.  

I failed to see my waistline expand
As I consumed more calories in my homemade cup
Than in a sugary Starbucks drink
And I would have multiple cups- not just one

I want a black coffee with no sugar,
Because I read somewhere that vogue models drink black coffee to suppress their appetite.
I can taste the ecstasy of a Chanel model in a single cup of bitter ******* black coffee.  
I want to be a pretty girl.  I’m not a pretty girl.
But I will be.  

I want a black coffee with no sugar,
Because I don’t deserve to enjoy my food.
Models probably don’t enjoy their low calorie, tasteless food, but they sure force themselves to, because they actually have control, unlike me.

I’ll take a black coffee with no sugar.
I’ll also take a side of “pretty girl” with willpower.
I ******* hate black coffee.  
But I can’t complain.  Not at this rate, not at this hour.
I want to be a pretty girl.  Pretty as a flower.
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