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 me
my mind is a mess of spilled ink and fluttering pages of nameless faces and faceless names of pink sunsets and choking waves of dying grips with icy flesh if spreading smiles with no conviction of e v e r y t h i n g . and it is too much to handle.
I used to think there was something I dunno, attractive about disorganization— a scattered mind, having too many thoughts to say at once, unable to focus on just one thing because their attention is caught by so many things they consider interesting or insightful—I found it quirky, intriguing; a mystery to be explored, a mind in need of dissecting But it’s really more of a burden than anything endearing, because it’s frustrating to never feel like your words are correct or your own, like you ripped them from a book or only spit them for this poem it’s disheartening to never be taken seriously because of how frantically you lose track of your subject and yourself It’s shameful to be invaded because of this quirk, but only for a short time because the baggage is too heavy and everybody’s hands are too full
Missing you is the emotional equivalent of an anxiety attack
I wake up expecting to see your face, or hear your breathing. I get out of my bed h o p i n g to find you in my k i t c h e n or on my couch. I steep my morning tea for five minutes because the tea was intended for y o u . Who else would drink the microwaved-till-boiling tea with such joy?
I get dressed for my day wearing matching socks because that’s how you like it - they never stay that way though - paying special attention to the bruises you’ve left on my c h e s t You tell me t ha t they say “I ’ m y o u r s” I think they say “ Y o u ’ r e a l l I w a n t, Y o u ' re a l l I w i l l ever n e e d."
I often sit on my bed, staring o f f into s p a c e, thinking of your breath on my neck and the u n steady t h u m p of your h ea rtb ea t in my ear
Your s m i l e is the north star in the dark skies of my brain and it is all of the guidance I n e e d.
Longing for your a t t e n t i o n and your com pa ny seems to have become a daily activity.
This was written a few days ago. I've always struggled with anxiety and depression, maong other things, and I've been able to manage it for the most part. But these last couple of weeks, it's been seemingly impossible. I wrote this while I was in the midst of all of that and I was trying my hardest to force my brain into some kind of structured focus. My brain nearly refused but I was able to stay in one frame of mind long enough to complete this; hence the entirely unorganized structure (or lack of?) in this poem. I'm happy enough with it to give it to my girlfriend for our anniversary coming up in a couple of days. It's not my best, but I am pretty proud of it.