Do you really know me like you say you do?
I don't like existing in memories of others when I cannot remember my own.
You can't possibly remember me.

It makes me so angry when you tell me that,
angry that I can't verify it,
angry that those ideas of me still linger,
angry that my past exists at all.

I want to purge this dissociative self
I used to be from all consciousness,
and it isn't fair that you can still remember her.

I am so mad that you can compare me now to me before
and that you can clearly recollect all the signs.
I am so envious that I couldn't have seen the signs myself when it was happening and that I still can't now.

I envy the way you can tip your sight backward to how I was before and that you can see the progress.
I want to see it too.

I am so angry
and this feeling burns my throat
when you remind me of what you know.

A blur that breathes, growing and abating,
tides of people, entombed in steel,
flowing and fading on riverbeds of tar.
A place of nomads,
all draped in cloth.
A place of symbols,
of concrete and rebar

Sheets of cold, ice grey
Falling spindles, cold rain
A graceful procession
With a bellyful of tears
A dreadful cortège
A heralder of fears

A young forest paved with ancient crushed stones
Nothing left but the inheritance of a thousand unknowns
Nothing left, but old fossilised bones

All that has happened is what I know
And all I know is what will happen.
All that remains is what I know
And all I know is ruin.

Tryin’ to figure this thing out
Heart flying
Straight up leaving behind
This mind of mine
Why are we moving
And to where
Why now
Why am I so detached
From the then and the now

To be alone is desired
A sense of inner peace
And yet I couldn’t even tell you
What that means

Seeking reasons for beliefs
Supreme beings to believe in me
Some chains to bind
So I can escape and say I’m free

Clinging to the cleaning
Of inner space
Restless
Endless torment
When faced with rejection
Of expectations
Innocent sentiments
Soon cemented
Into views of how the earth
Should be

Move me, stream
Fill my lungs if you must
But I hope that I may be present
So that I can open up
Done with the dissociation
Futile, now
What once saved me as a child

I’m alive
I am here
There is so much to be done
Not to neglect portals
to Being
the Way and One

If I dissociate any longer
I’m scared that there will
not be anything left to come
back to.

I think I remember back to something
but I’m not sure.
The day that it happened I was young
but it’s hardly even a memory.
I know that there’s a part of this that’s wrong
but nothing rings true.

I think he gripped me, no he didn’t, did he?
slow or quick
or has my mind slipped, it’s always slipping.
was it abuse,
the point of being so abnormal that it was normal to live by the coral.

I always imagined i was a sea creature
we can’t reach her, they’d say.
she’s too far away fading it all out
and I always wondered why
no one even asked me what it was about
when all the time

they were trying to clear the ******* drought.

I think I won’t remember and perhaps it’s for the best,
can i please now rest?
I love and I can’t stand the ocean in my head,
sometimes i wish i was dead
and honestly, would that really be so bad
when these stills are always so sad?

They’re so raw and you’re all so painted,
it’s not me being opinionated.
I remember my life being so bright but now I’m in bed
and again, it’s crawling in my head.
I’m making it up, none of this feels real but...
It might be. And it scares me.

I binged today. Normally I'd say, "it's okay."
but the truth is that it's not
I wish it weren't so hard to stop, but I have a disorder
One that many people just don't understand.

It's like I have a hole I can't fill inside of me
one that keeps telling me I need to eat more
"You're not full yet, eat this, eat that!" My stomach tricks me
Until it doesn't and I feel the consequences of my actions.

If only I could stop myself.
The people who think it's as easy as telling yourself no are wrong
I spend money on food that I think will help me,
try to create a new habit called "eating healthy."

My disorder just laughs at this.
Because it knows what I'll do the next time I'm feeling anything
I'll go order a McDonalds number 3 large,
or go to the grocery and fill up my cart.

I'll get home and eat it too quickly til I can't move anymore
Then cry and feel angry that I'm too afraid to throw it up.

writing poetry is a way to exist, to attempt to emulate the beauty of the me that I'm not yet but the me that's inside of my head, and it's all spontaneous, nothing planned or rehearsed because rarely does anything come from it

listening to music is a way to exist, I reside somewhere in a line I interpreted to refine an alternative image of this body that I refuse to accept

dissociation is a way to exist, cause the loudness of my own ambitions and dreams and goals, or rather delusions, can distract from my own nightmarish self image, but only for a moment

self harm is a way to exist, as I hope that the me that I imagine is stronger than I am and can tolerate far more punishment inflicted by either myself or my fellow human

******* is a way to exist, cause the lust I experience is never more prominent than when there's truly nothing left for me and I've exhausted every other method, and there is nothing to do but give in to the most worthless way to feel a sense of purpose

Emorie is a way to exist, because she's an exquisite reflection of the life that I've always wanted, and what I wish I could see instead of what I get when I look into the mirror and see dead eyes and unfamiliar flesh.