They can be dark
They can be bright
Reflecting all the brilliant colors from the
morning light

They can seem empty
They can seem full
Expressing the constant ebb and flow of
society's pull

Some will remain open
Some will remain forever closed
Waiting for that moment when it's OK to be
exposed

Some will invite rigidity
Some will invite change
Hanging on to the notion that "what is"
doesn't always have to remain

It's all about perception
Eyes come in many different sizes, hues, and
clarity
So, those windows to nowhere may also be the
windows to everywhere for me

i'm getting bad again.
i'm kind of vain. i look at my reflection often.
i feel terrible every time.
it kind of reminds me of when my baby teeth would get loose.
i'd push my tooth side to side with my tongue.
there'd be a twinge of pain, but it felt good.
locking myself in my bathroom and pulling my shirt up to see my waist is like that.
it hurts me every time---
constantly reminding me of how i'll never look the way i should,
but i can't stop.

my room was filled with darkness, except for the flashlight i was holding.
pacing and pacing and pacing
crying and crying and crying
my note to you was written in blue ink that looked like scribbles.
you told me i could talk to you but you became angry whenever i did.
i decided i would give up.
i couldn't bear starving myself anymore.
i couldn't look at myself anymore.
i couldn't stand watching you rapidly distance yourself from me.
my hips were bleeding and the blood was dripping down my thighs and sticking to my sweatpants.
i looked through every drawer and every cabinet in my bedroom.
i stayed silent because my family was sleeping peacefully and thought i was, too.
i couldn't find the pills.
i looked through the same drawers and cabinets hoping that i would see those tiny white circles in that tiny plastic bag.
i couldn't find the pills.
i decided i would go to bed.
i lit the note for you on fire and threw it out of my bedroom window and into my lawn.
all that pacing and all that crying tired me out
and i curled up in bed with blood all over my legs
and gently cried myself to sleep.

Her body is not an empty canvas,
it's a hilly mountain, uneven and lopsided
some parts portruding -- sometimes soft,
sometimes bony
It's the waves of the sea, ebb and flow, changing
One time she is okay with what she sees,
the next she wants nothing more but to get rid
of the excess, of the parts that don't please her
Her body is crossed with scars, all the things
she doesn't like highlighted in white,
marked

She's not happy

yesterday my mom told me a secret
that of you starve yourself your mouth will begin to taste sweet
the sweetest taste you may ever experience
but it makes your breath rancid
i don't know if she told me
because she knows i hate bad breath
or because i have a sweet tooth

The reflection I see
Is blurry at best
Marred by the dots of doubt
That have no way to connect

I am trying to methodically regain a link
Into the feeling of "being me"
Learning to embrace the (beauty) of all the
fallible pieces,
That make up my identity

I have put my (body) through a torturous Hell
Trying to obtain an unreachable goal
Yet it still manages to be forgiving enough
To keep mustering up (strength)
As I journey to become whole

I do not know when inner peace will come
And silence the screaming beast within
Though I have found an urgent will to fight for
connection
And (respect) my true self again

I'm trying to get over myself.
I really am.
I don't like being the center,
And my problems make that so.
I don't want everyone always commenting
That I am making no progress,
That I'm not trying,
Because I am.
I am really trying.
You just can't see it, because all of this is an
Inward Battle,
That doesn't just suddenly stop.
No matter how much you want me to,
I can't stop hating myself in a day,
Or a week,
Or a month,
Or even a year.
Because I have been looking at myself
This way,
For a long time now.
It doesn't just stop.
That's not how it works.