I love you, Her boyfriend used to say Every time he missed her birthday by a day. Those three little words accompanied with Thanks for your forgiveness, That she never really gave Beneath her false smiles.
You are beautiful, Belongs to her mother Who dressed her up in frills that itched And tied doll ribbons in her hair.
You are gorgeous, Whispered her second husband Only in bed and not When she had morning breath and hair, And needed to hear those words then.
I hate you, Never slips past her painted lips While shining so brightly in her eyes.
Quiet household They do not hear Loud whispers Harsh reminders They very much feel
I have 14 tiny moles did you know I can count I count when they fight I count when my mother couldn't count on my father
We don't talk when we fix We huff when we move We hiss when one makes a sound
I tie the broken nylon guitar string Just for fun Around my neck It hurts a bit but This kind of pain is not as bad as The one I'm trying to rid myself of
My sister tries to listen to them My brothers distract themselves I write these things I hear my father yell
THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN
We'll be alright.
The precise date and time was when this event happened. My family isn't perfect. I could tell you that we're dysfunctional and at times, especially during my earlier childhood years, abusive. But we're trying.
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
Honored to be the one who brings love to the confused and deranged, to those who use more than they give, and to the ones who scare everyone away; honored to be the one they loved the most before one of us must move on.
Honored or cursed? Nothing hurts more than loving someone so ****** up and them genuinely loving you but being so toxic you can't be around them Horrible fates of my life it seems, to love and be loved by people like that I'll cherish what good came from it Nothing touches me more than knowing it was so hard for them to be good and that despite it all they tried to be their best for me, even if their best was still awful
my Mother, seems to have given up on the children. and her health, seems to be failing her. irony, seems to be the only consistent thing About the whole scenario. however, it never ceases to amaze me Her ability, to carry out her responsibilities without ever fully being there.
You wear a cloak of bruised blue and come to me with a wilted rose, a waning moon in your sunken eyes. Your words ******* my failing mind like a thousand shivering beggars searching for fire in every corner. When you're inside me, you don't see the wall of ice that hides the bones, the ruined cities, the ***** ugliness of unspoken words and stillborn thoughts. All you see is a portrait of yourself in snarling hues of red, dull shades of grey on a sea of pitiless black. Still, I kneel at the altar of this madness, gathering your tears as they turn to stones, fending off your snakes with oily words, burning myself at the stake of your pain.
Somehow, I'm still alive. I have no choice but to hold the mirror up to your eyes and let the truth consume you.
I wrote this poem a little over a year ago. It was inspired by quite a dysfunctional friendship I was tangled in some time before.