Someone once asked me why
I starve
When I know it could **** me
“It’s not even attractive
To be that skinny”,
They said.

I let the sentence simmer and bubble in my crockpot cranium,
And chewed it for a long time
After it was done cooking

“I want the parts of me”
I said
“That nobody has made *****”
The hips and the ribs and the spine
And the knobby knock knees
That so many man-children
In my young life
Have not had the chance
To bruise and scratch
And touch
And dissect.

I want the bones
And I’ve wanted them as long as my hole punched
Memory can recall
Because they are the one thing
That has ever,
Truly,
Only,
Been mine
And mine alone.
The secret I can grab with both hands.

-people can not destroy what you keep hidden

Hi.
Hello.
You've been here a while now.
I like it here.

I think it may be time for you to go.
I like it here.

You see,
   I know you like it here
   and you see
   you're always going to be welcome here
   but you see
   it's time for you to go.

You don't see.
       You don't see that you can't kick me out.
       You don't see that you don't quite have a choice.
I do.
   This is my house.
But where's all your stuff?
I don't... I don't... Where's all my stuff?
I didn't think you needed it while I'm here
        so I took the liberty of getting rid of it for you.
        You see,
        you have me and that's all I really need right now.

Well you see,
       it's really time for you to leave now.
       I kind of,
       well,
       I kind of miss my stuff.
Nah, you really don't need it.
       Just you and me against the world.
The door is right there.
        Please leave.
Ah, but you see,
        I've locked the door and taken the key.

"Billie Jean is not my lover."
But she tells me differently
In private.
Now, however, there's a baby
Carrying her impulsive libido
Inside of it.

A matryoshka of folly
Long nights of Texas ***** and blow
Multiple partners, that's fine, just tell me!
But please let your other suitors know
That you aren't the only one
Carrying their load.

My heart sunk, believe me,
When I drove over to your house.
And it pained me to see
Your face, for the first time,
Unable to make an expression.

One, two, three vicodin
Four, five, six at a time
Seven concluded your session.

I found you wandering the eerily-still
Streets,
Even though it was a beautiful afternoon.
I love you so much, but please...
Don't die.  I'm not in the mood.

Poison girl,
who got in your head,
why are hurting and wishing you were dead.
sickly girl,
why is your head so cruel.
why does it make you hate and follow its rules.
vile girl,
why are you starving yourself.
being thin and dying won’t bring you wealth.
putrid girl,
why don’t you see all that you gave,
you didn’t deserve this pain or such an early grave.

I always heard of the stories,
of what happened behind closed doors,
what people whispered about when it was spoken about on the news,

when you don't even bat and eyelid,
because it will never happen to you-
You'll never know that pain -

I thought -
And now, I cry. Because I was so fortunate before
And now I can't look at myself the same way.
I cant think the same way,
It -
Hurts to know I will never be the same.
Never.

sometimes,
alone
under the weight of soft
comforters
thoughts come in
without
knocking

-my own personal intruders

there is laughter here
it hides behind their vacant gaze
so far, and yet so near
resting in a forlorn haze

we are boundless
loose ends untied as we
stare blankly into this mess
unforgivingly

more , more, MORE
I often find myself staring off at nothing, enveloped in my thoughts and searching for something more to distract my mind.
         What happened to her?
You can see the emptiness that has taken residence in my eyes, my being, nevertheless I still hope that life will become more worth living.
         She was always the good child.
Every time I run my hands over my skin I feel the lines that reside there and the blood that seeps from them, knowing there will be more to come.
          She was so smart and loved school.
Most of my thoughts are consumed by food. Keeping it down is almost unbearable, but ridding myself of it helps me to feel a bit more at ease.
          She would never do such a thing.
I often dream of death and how to escape the nightmare that plays out in my brain, thinking there must be something more than all of this.
          How could this happen?