I came face to face with God
His breath stunk with alcohol
He just kept staring at his hands
And apologizing.
Volcanoes erupted
Every time he cleared his throat.
I didn't ask
Why
I just stared.
He never met my eye
And that's when
I knew
There are
mountains
Even He can't move.

I remember things that most people don't.
I remember small flowers that I love.
I remember what songs I listen to with certain people.
I remember playing hide and seek with my cousins in a field.
I remember a compliment from a six year old.
I also remember turning down food over and over and over.
I remember stretching again and again.
I remember getting smaller and smaller.
I remember the night my dad told me that I was going to eat protein powder or two pieces of butter toast and I almost started
crying.
I remember my sister asking me if I starved myself and I said no.
I remember my music getting sadder
I remember closing off.
I remember trying to please people.
That's all I live for anymore..
I live for other people.

We could never agree on music.
You didn't like acoustic piece,
I said they were quiet, like me.
"Is it still a song if there are no words?"

You talked about traveling,
I told you about the Dead Sea.
Our fingers locked
And you turned a key inside my chest.
Is it still "just friends" if I can still feel
Shadows of your mouth on mine?

Christmas came early when
You smiled at me.
Winter was a blur.
We spent days at the park,
Admiring Mother Nature's new look.
Is it still death if it's so beautiful?

The rain clouds outside my window
Gravitated into my brain.
I strived for perfection
And you supported me.
"Just five more pounds",
You would remind me.
Is it still a disorder if you're helping me?

I carved your name
Out of my favourite memories.
I swallowed shards of glass
And ate three meals a day.
It is really recovery if it's so bitter?

The TV screamed
"Love yourself"
My parents screamed
"Love yourself"
I couldn't get the words
Past my grinding teeth.
Is it still love if there is no confession?

I remembered
All I allowed you to do.
I recalled
Everything I pretended to ignore.
Is it really letting go if I only forgive myself?

It can be a song without words
Just like how love can exist without the
Confession.
Death isn't my friend
And neither are you.
I am more than you can see.
I am enough.
And I have finally forgiven myself.

i wonder if it's true that people fall in love in the weirdest ways

because i have imagined you falling in love with me too many ways to count

and each one has a different story and a different scenario

none of which will ever happen

but i keep imagining it because i know how much i could love you

and i know how perfect we could be if you would just follow my script

but then i think about how real love doesn't have to be forced

it just happens

so maybe one day you'll see me and you'll realize

that no one will ever be more perfect for you then me

and then maybe i'll believe that love happens every day

rather than just in the stories and poems i write about you

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?

All hipbones and collarbones,
Size 1 and 0, long flowing hair and gauges,
thigh gap and flat stomach,
you are beautiful.
All dry skin and yellow teeth,
Size 12 and 13, short, plain hair,
touching thighs and rounded stomach,
I am "beautiful" to everyone but myself.
I will be strong.
I will be stronger.
I will exercise more,
I will eat less,
I will be thinner.
Once I've lost 40 pounds,
then I might get the help everyone says
I so desperately need,
diet healthily
and work with somebody.
Until then, I will suffer through...
...because that shows strength,
and eating shows weakness,
weakness in myself.
Calories should be a foreign substance,
not an old friend,
chewing and swallowing sometimes hurts worse
than a **** lemon-juice papercut.
800 calories over my budget every **** day
when my budget is already too high?
That shows no strength.
500 calories under?
THAT shows strength.
Shows willpower.
Shows endurance.
That is what will make me thinner.
I'm setting my budget to 500 instead of 1000,
because hey,
less is more, right?

My sense of self
is defined
by what I eat
what happens afterwards
and by the scars on my skin
and on my heart
that I was told would heal,
but were meant to bleed,
and by the way you hold me
closely
like I am your answer,
and the fact that I wrote so many words
for my ex-boyfriend that I have none left for myself,
but I seem to have an abundance for you.
My sense of self is defined
by the whirlwind of passing daydreams
and photographs that surround me
and pieces of other peoples' poems...
pieces of my own poems that I barely remember writing.
When the sun sets behind the horizon
cuts through the sky and fades
into starlight and haze
I inhale twilight
and exhale tranquility.
Late night loaded plates
and bathroom trips
early morning cigarettes
and paper cups of caffeine
more sugar than coffee.
Afternoon poetry and photographs
smiles and laughs
followed by midnight bloodshed
and silence,
by my recovery.
My sense of self is defined by
what I love
and by who loves me
by the words and stomach acid
that roll off my tongue
and the heave of my chest
during laughter and after dinner,
by the tears shed by my eyes
and my skin,
the way that I bury my face in your chest,
the toxicity and twilight
that I inhale
the smoke, vapour, tranquility
that I exhale
the popping of my spine
and of alcohol bottles
the hiss of a pipe
and the way they say my dreams
go up in smoke,
I say the smoke spells in the air
the words of my future novels
and poems.