I don’t write the things I write because they sound beautiful, I write them because I actually feel and think them and this is my way of getting my thoughts out. 
I am so sick of people glorifying selfharm and eating disorders… Honestly this site disgusts me at times, girls thinking they need to be troubled to fit in, that it is cool to stick your fingers in your throat and hug the toilet daily…
no no no

Having your thighs touch does not mean you are fat, it means that your hip structure is wider than others’. 
Having scars does not mean you are mysterious and interesting, it means you have secrets, struggles you wanted to get out but couldn’t. Scars are nothing to be proud of, you may be proud of the fact that they are scars and not wounds anymore, but showing them off is just sick. 
Please believe me that having a bigger size than your friend doesn’t make you fat, it makes you different. Which is good. There is no such thing as ugly or fat, there is only beauty which has a very wide definition. But the bigger part of that definition goes back to one thing; happiness.
stop glorifying troubles and making it seem cool to have them, you are not a freak if you feel happy, for one, you are lucky. Go ahead and feel happy. Let it scare you, smile so wide your cheeks hurt. That’s what it’s all about.

Oh
The left hand.
One I use when my strength and trust has retired
Lays upon a lightly laced (cloth)
Disembarc of the covenant.

Lick the place that my hand lays
On.
I
Humanly wrong
Make gong out of the chaotic amount
Noisy bloods hitting the walls on it's way out to the rest of her vessel.

She can make what is mine hers.
She can make the mind like purse.
So she speaks.

My want move the weak hand reach.
So this something can compete with
And maybe even complete sweet.

**** self made namesake peach.
Stir & heat with onions
And wash the perceptive pounds I
POUND
These tons now neat your Golden ratio
To be betrayed and be peated

Friday,
you smiled at me,
as I made my way out of the wreckage

Your smile was all I noticed,
set in your soft face,
teeth brighter than energy-savers
Now I know why you still smoke

And now it seems,
every man clad in black or grey,
a trench coat that buttons up to the neck,
is you..

You are an effigy,
of every man who masqueraded under the guise,
of potential lover

Who fumbled for their phones,
requesting mobile numbers,
Whose sallow hands have caressed me,
unwanted

But their teeth were unseen

Yours are a badge,
you proudly show off,
in all those smiles,
you give like gifts to me

But I can not keep them,
because they belong to the girl,
whose swollen lips you kissed,
not long ago

There is always another,
who expects your smile,
and knows by heart,
            The number of teeth you keep

My voice explodes from within my soul,
hatred stemming from my broken heart,
blinded by smoke from your heart of coal,
wondering how we tore apart.
While fire emanated from our love,
the heat became too hot to handle,
I should wear a glove when holding you,
but my insatiable hunger I cannot resist.
You are the dinner I have slaved for,
a great idea, soon to be a chore.
Like a child biting a hot meal,
only to be reprimanded by mother,
a kiss from you I will steal,
even if the smoke does smother.

You are the morphine kinda person;
Dangerous and addicting.


F.Z.N

If, just to be safe.
When, for things that are certain.

I’m not sure if I’m fixable. i feel hollow and ill fall over crumble into ruble. while the picture isn’t perfect its a start of a piece art. sometimes the world ***** and **** when its bad and it makes you mad and you’ve had too much **** thrown your way pen and paper come to play. the pen may write the words but remember excalibur is only a sword and without a grip on the handle it can fight no foe and win no war. i feel down and i want to tag out in the last round or take a dive in round five but **** it pain is on my brain and with this much i can take a little more. I’m not sure if I’m fixable but then again nobody else in the discount section is whole anyways right?

mime,give me flowers in the dark
paint me a picture of gods
make me someone holy
when im dead i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest
sorry about the mess we left,sorry about the apple tree,sorry about the taste in your mouth
i hope its not too bitter for you
is this the part where i apologize for ripped sheets on a bed that never belonged to me in the first place?
sorry,sweetheart,sorry that i wasnt the right narcissistic ***** for you
is this the part where you mutilate a french love song?i hope it all works out for you
i hope you find an ax buried in the coffin underneath the apple tree
i hope you use it to demolish my house,i hope you find my corpse
and i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest

I am deep inside this dreamland,
Where flowers always grow.
And caterpillars talk to me,
And cards stand up in rows.
I never want to wake up,
And I never want to go.
But in this dream I fear I must,
I do believe I'll miss it though...

you hated poems so much that you
became one, sweetheart
(tell me, does this suit your tastes?have i gone too far?)
i tried to write a love poem and it turned into a suicide note that doesnt belong to me
i guess you didnt find it romantic when i called you carrotseed,
when i pined so much that i turned my love into a grove of trees
you make comparisons between me and natural disasters like it's a habit you can't get rid of
but there's nothing natural about the way my heart beats when i see you
baby, your eyes have never looked better