I.
Munching on a bowl
of leftover coleslaw;
My jaws feel like they're chewing
12 gumballs all at once.
The slaw from my mouth keeps falling
back to the bowl;
The serving spoon's (heaped)
too large for my mouth.

II.
It's too white to be green and
too orange to be purple,
But (for my tummy)
this bowl of coleslaw
is more yummy than bread.

III.
It feels good to feel good,
good to be healthy.
My food tastes of words
and this poem is crunchy.

All I want is for you to be free, healthy and whole.

you are a man
with a plan
from where I stand
one hand
tied
to my backside

why
oh why
must i comply
one track
mind
flick onto
a folded blind

why
oh why
must you spit
into my eye

lie
on the floor
naked soul
survived.

deep breaths
calming down
get a fist around your emotions
think about them
discuss with them
get rid of the unnecessary ones
no more panicking
no more breaking down
lets get this together
and rise up

it's a pretty simple recipe, really;
white bread, toasted until golden brown;
a slice of cheese, a drizzle of ketchup;
eggs, beaten;
fry for 4 minutes, or however long you desire.

sometimes i’d snap a pic or two for my friends—
all of whom said it was unhealthy,
but it can’t be more unhealthy than staying up past 2,
can it?

because who cares if i were to eat breakfast at 12pm,
or dine as the sun rises?
the universe sure as hell doesn’t give a ****,
especially not in the middle of a crisis
caused by some ******* virus

it’s not like time gives out prizes,
for everyone who’s managed to maintain a “healthy” routine
and doesn’t spent 18 hours
in front of  a screen

i’m getting tired of compromises
every new problem that arises
hardly surprises
me anymore

so if you’ll excuse me,
i’ll go back to my devices
now

You've made me go to mint tea
And eating fresh lettuce I've grown all myself,
With mindfulness and yoga sessions
And more thoughtful daily routines

You've made me realize
How toxic you really are;
Pondering upon if I should let you go
I conclude 'Yes.'

I'm supposed to be healthy.

I work out daily,
My eating habits are normal,
I'm physically healthy,
My grades can be fixed,
My mental health is becomming better,
I'm in a loving, non-toxic relationship,
The connection to my family is alright,
I'm close with my friends.
I have a lot of hobby's and interests
I don't feel empty most of the time.

Why, Why, Do I Not Feel Okay?

I pick & pick & pick.
I peel the layers off, satisfyingly.
I watch the blood ooze out.
Slowly running down arms and legs.

I pick & pick & pick again.
I tear the skin off, contently.
I watch the skin reveal pink flesh.
Slowly, I feel alive.

I keep thinking of you;
I pick the scab.

I keep remembering everything;
I pick the scab.

Flashes of your face invoke my memories;
The blood runs.

The sound of your laugh enters my mind;
The blood drips.

I go to places that were special to us;
I smile.

I pretend you’re there with me;
I laugh.

I sit in silence--
I talk in my head.
I even scream sometimes.
All while I pick & pick & pick some more.

The same cycle occurs over and over again:
I pick, bleed, then heal.

Healthy,     isn’t it?