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its not julia Dec 2014
please stop romancing cutting,
depression, eating disorders,
anxiety and suicidal thoughts.
those things are not beautiful.

it is not beautiful waking up
every morning wishing you
weren't here.

it is not beautiful having to wear
long sleeves in the summer to
cover up the scars on your arms.

it is not beautiful throwing up
in the toilet just so you don't
gain another pound.

it is not beautiful missing school
for a month just because you
couldn't drag yourself out of bed
to see daylight.

but you can be beautiful with
cuts and scars all over your body.

and you can be beautiful even though
you aren't too happy about your weight.

oh, and you're still beautiful if you haven't
socialized with people for a couple weeks.

and you're still beautiful even though you
blew out your 16th birthday candles wishing
you were dead.

you're beautiful, but the things that you have done to
your body aren't.
lachrymose Dec 2014
december is near.
blink your eyes,
december is here.
here come the platters piled high with
sins.
is this really "the most wonderful time of the year'?
god, it all
looks
so
good.
the whispers curl around my ears.
no. no.  fat. calories. crunches. jumping jacks. calories. fat. weight.
the holidays aren't about family.
this is war.
this is about self-control.
this is about my honor.
on goes the lip gloss, the too-big dresses
so nobody notices how fat i am.
"have you lost weight?"
stop making fun of me.
"aren't you going to eat?"
i'm nauseous. lies
i already ate. lies
i'm eating later. lies
don't touch me.
don't hug me.
don't speak to me.
surrounded by sins
calories
fat
bait for their traps.
*just one bite?
Sade LK Dec 2014
OCD
My scars don't look like
Anyone else's-
They're more careful,
Organized, precise and
Exact.
Not light, but
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough.

People always ask why
I do such pretty patterns:
Because this is the only thing in life
That I can really control
Control
Control,

And I find it so beautiful-
Though, not so much tragic.

My scars are not chaotic like a
Car-wreck,
They are consistent like a
Coma-
Proof that I was awake
The whole time I was sleeping,
And I could feel everything
Even though I could tell no one.
No one.

That this
Unconscious obsessive compulsion
Demands order
Order
Order,
it
Insists by instinct,
An intricate simplicity.

Still, I will 'ever envy
Those stitched gashes, once
Gushing
Gushing
Gushing with surrender and
Serenity...
Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber
To form a white flag
Forever etched in flesh;
To tell the world
They, were a slave to freedom-

I am only a slave
To *myself.
Written December 6th & 8th, 2014
Eve Katrina Nov 2014
If you aren't stressed or depressed
They are gonna treat you less.
So shut up about how you're so *******
Blessed.
Like sorry im happy,
And my life is alright,
Am I gonna lose my fans
Cause my  brain is skewed on right?
I don't see how this could be a fair fight,
And I think- what would my idols do?
But even further they've developed mental illnesses too!
Like we're all looking to be biggest threat,
To be the most disturbed person you've
Ever met.
Cause it's poetic and dark,
And I wanna feel deep.
And this positive **** isn't gonna raise a peep.
So I gotta take a jump of faith or some kinda leap.
So I can be who you psychos what me to be!
Like it's easy,
The sadness enticing,
Will help me rhyme better,
Or flow more lyrically.
Like this is my new style.
Give me a minute to think...
Fill my silence with your laughter and childish chatter
As I make myself fall off sanities brink.
Because what really matters
When all you want is hype in twitter?
And to look thoughtful among
All your so called haters?
But your life is perfect...
And you want more,
So you you act like it's less,
So you feel indie and on media adored.
Like maybe you picked up your
Life's passion off the clearance rack in a grocery store. Lol.
But as long as you're not okay!
You know kids be acting fake trying to get some internet love
Posting pictures probably faking gay
Or posting some scars like
white girls have it so hard.
All I'm saying is that this according to this  generation
You have to be broken to get some attention.
And its kinda twisted we gotta feel down
So that we can get lifted.
Maya Grace Nov 2014
Anxiety
A ball of prickling fire tearing beneath my sternum.
Fear
A bolt of electric ripping through my veins.
Depression
A cloud so thick is suffocates my soul.
Anorexia
Starving the outside from within.
Bulimia
Inhaling the world and purging it back.
Failure
Being crushed by society for all of the above .....

And still wondering why oh why is it me???

Why?
Liv Sep 2014
blood stained fingernails
hollow eyed
intestine pasta
with a beating heart side
you don't need it
but i need it
a swig of ipecac
to polish off your favorite shade of wine
a kick of copper and regret

but i am eating
her stomach grew smaller
she drowned a little deeper
a nasty lie beneath gritted teeth

come back darling,
dinner is served
this is hard to understand i'm going to assume, it's about eating disorders or missing someone, thus leaving a gap. eating me alive, but im my own demon. This is dark. I wrote it with a very dark intention
She'll wake up at noon and
Dread getting out of bed.
At one, she'll get up and
Pretend that she's "just tired".
At two, her stomach is begging
For food, but she's too fat to eat.
She'll work out at three for her
Dream body, but it's only bones.
Her mother will come home from
Work at four and say she looks sick.
Dad comes home at five and
He'll say that she needs some meat on her.
The smell of a well cooked meal will
Flood her nostrils at six. Her stomach growls.
At seven, she'll give in and eat
With her family, but only a little.
Her little brother calls her fat
At eight 'o' clock; it'll make her cry.
When everyone heads to bed at nine,
She'll sneak to the bathroom to throw up.
At ten, she'll go back to bed
And cry because she isn't good enough.
She'll get a text message at eleven,
And she'll hope it's from the boy she loves.
When she's getting bullied at midnight,
She'll cut her wrists to feel better.
At one in the morning, she'll sob
Into her pillow until her heart tears
On into two a.m.
At three, she'll lie awake,
Unable to cry anymore.
She'll try to bandage her
Too damaged wrists at four;
And at five, she'll realize
That she doesn't care anymore.
At six a.m., she'll find a pen
And paper to write a letter.
She'll cry so hard that she'll
Have to start over at seven.
A knock at the door, a reminder
For school, will startle her at eight.
She will make up an excuse at
Nine for why she needs to go in late.
Her mother will leave for work
At ten, and she'll place her note conveniently.
Her mother with receive a call from
The school at eleven, she'll rush home angrily.
She'll burst into her daughters room at
Noon to find her motionless; a minute too late.
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