dear . . . sweetie,

the projections of your essence is the type
to cook up a future of you;
of the home you call your heart,
or how you let it spill across the metal table,
just to knead it back together to construct wholesome smiles.

yours is the form of communication i've never known,
a presence that haunts me -
as the scent of your perfume lingers at the back of my tongue
as i taste a sweet fruit,
or how your stories speak to me
as my eyes trickle such mundane appliances around me.

you have taken not my heart, nor my soul.
you have extracted from me fragments of my time;
where i find myself caught in the air, mystically
hearing the songs that were stuck in my head when i first met you.

you are the soundtrack to my little death.
you are always right in the corner of my mind, just as i want to see you:
half-baked, smirking, and vulnerable.

You could or you couldn't
You would, but you wouldn't
Seeing the horrors that are happening abroad, thinking it'll help by clicking 'like'
Hearing the screams of the children, watching their death unfold.
But you do nothing, millions of people, humans are dying and you do nothing.
Sharing videos, getting the word out
They view it but turn their heads.

TELL ME WHEN YOU HELPED
TELL ME WHEN YOU TRIED
But you have nothing to say, for you did nothing.
It isn't you, you're at home cozy and warm, skipping through the channels like there isn't children starving in Africa.
"Ugh i hate school!"
"I don't want to eat that!"
At least you have school, at least you have food.
Stop being so self centered, for if you were starving and someone offered you food you would take it.
Right?
"I would never eat out of the trash, That's disgusting!"
What if that's all you had to eat.
You would eat it, because you'd want to live though you say you would rather die.

Excitement
     (stressed parents)
Endless fun to have
     (bickering couples)
Days of joy and laughter
     (screaming children)
It's the happiest place on earth
     (you'll slowly miss being home)

I look past my reflection in the mirror;
whale-sized thighs, and
arms too big for the oceans
rain pours down like sharp daggers
into my flesh, and I’m tired
teeth hurt, and I’m tired
heart pounding, and I’m tired
my mermaid waves leave my head like
an old porcelain doll, dying
and I’m tired
I teach my body how to stop needing,
in with the calories, and I’m tired
out with the calories, and I’m really tired
silent screams echo at the fake reflection
that stares blindly through the broken
mirrors
**** me up, I’m seeing stars tonight
bones aching, and I’m smiling
bullets to the head, and I’m smiling
painstakingly dancing through the night
till I’m void of nothing,
they say empty is beautiful, and I want
so dearly to feel beautiful
calories scattered on the floor, like the
those scattered thoughts of everything
I used to be
and everything I am now
scatterbrain, tell me how you feel
when your insides are void of
self-love
you eat hatred for breakfast
and spit self-pity into your toilet
tell me again, silly girl,
do you feel beautiful now?

Into a bow, I folded
paper wakame
and ate it.
Intentionally.

Compulsive behaviors include :
Ingredients such as :
relativity ,
perspective

taught me how to turn
something flat
three-dimensional
and visa-versa.
The Unfamilliar, not-yet-integrated
uncertain if it could be capitalized on,
forms of existing
somehow gathered shame
exposure
sexuality
erasure
childhood memory
determination
in tasting.
I would like my appetite back
when you are finished evaluating

Above the water horizon,
where none of us can see,
everything is different.
:
I can't believe I keep forgetting.

what a feeling; when everything adds up.
when the fog clears and you see where you stand.
when the lights come on at the club and you see everyones face.
when you open your mcdonalds bag to find the wrong order.
when you get that test back and you got a C
when you order sprite and it ends up being water
when i jump in the ocean and its still a couple weeks early
when you realize youre not enough for someone, but you could be everything to someone new

I was looking at my fish today
And couldn't help but wonder
"Is he lonely?"

That's silly, of course,
Can fish even get lonely?
Sure, he's swimming in that huge tank,
Back and forth and back and forth
All hours of the day,
Entirely by himself,
His only company the algae hugging
The over sized and over-exaggerated rocks,
But can he be lonely?

Do fish have thoughts?
Does he swim back and forth
And back and forth
Wondering when the glass will tap
And flakes of food
Float down from some gleaming world above,
With nothing but fish-thoughts
Running through his fish brain,
Contemplating his existence:
Why is he here?
As a trophy?
As a center piece to give simple aesthetic to the room?
Is that all he is?
Aesthetic?

When he dies,
What will be remembered of him
Other than being flushed down into the sewers,
And replaced by yet another
Extremely unextraordinary fish?

But still, is he lonely?
Surely, as am I, he must be something,
Because maybe we are both here just for the aesthetic of being alive,
Swimming back and forth
And back and forth
With of fish thoughts
Waiting for nothing more than to be fed.