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Jane Nov 2021
You think I'm pretty? You don't think I should change?
Not by a single gram I won't, I promise Anna.

It's my friend Anna, she's always here for me.
Anna, I don't want to think, tell me what to do,
Yes, thank you Anna, I'll calculate those for you.

Did you say I look perfect Anna?
I can maintain perfect by being perfect.
I can be precise Anna, I promise, don't leave.

Anna, that's a lot of calculating.
Sorry Anna, you're right, perfection takes hard work.
I'm unafraid of toil.

Anna, I'm worried Anna, I can't stop feeling.
Think? I can over think to stop the feeling.
I'll gladly overthink than to over feel.
You're right Anna, I can numb it.

Anna, I'm craving something.
You're right Anna, I will never have that.

Anna, I never told you what I craved.
I craved love Anna, I craved safety.
I'm hungry for a meaningful life Anna.
Please feed those to me.

Why don't you give me what you promised Anna?
You became a liar Anna, but love is blind and I need you.

Speak for me Anna, lie for me Anna.
Anna others want to feed me, Anna, I don't know what they're feeding me Anna, stop them, it's unsafe where it's uncertain.

Yes, what Anna said, I already ate.
When?
Anna, they're catching on Anna, do something.

Anna, I'm hungry, Anna.
I've been keeping you alive to keep myself dead.

Anna please,
I starved myself, to feed Anna.
Isabel Frye May 2021
I am still a child, even today
While my skin grows and stretch marks rise
And for years all I ever craved was attention from anyone with eyes, or vocal chords to say anything to me
Now I am older, and I would have thought I’d learn how to live in my skin,
How to live with myself
But now I am a shell of what I once was
Who I used to be
The life and will to survive has left my body, I am decrepit and weak
Yet the leech inside me only grows quicker and quicker with every heart beat
I hate how much I hate myself
I’d give all the money in the world for some way out
Some way to feel
My body feels foreign, I can’t recognize it
And I’d live in the body of everyone else before my own,
Because I know I’ll never be comfortable inside of myself
Maybe I should accept what has become of me
That I’ll never be who I was, or who I wanted to be
That I spent years searching for validation where I knew it would never be found
Just for the thrill that I might just reach it
Even though I know I never will
Brumous Apr 2021
I'll let go of this pencil
that continues to draw this
head filled with imagination

"behead me,"
and bring the endless ache of being
an insufficient being;
in this ideal world

'filled with feelings, pens & paint,'
it irks me that I make no sense

I hate that I'm not perfect like her.
Jocelyn Mar 2021
The ball of yarn
that I've kept for many years,
has officially unravelled,
presenting all my greatest fears.

For years I had them bundled,
neatly in a ball,
and it wasn't until recently,
I couldn't continue to stall.

This wasn't caused my me,
as why would I begin,
to unravel a flawless system,
in that I see no win.

But it was the cat who caused the chaos.
The cat of death and sorrow,
bringing endless pain and hurt,
until I could no longer see a tomorrow.

He pulled my life all out of wack,
taking a once single untangled string,
and creating a mess of loose ends,
which he then began to fling.

Out with routine,
out with content,
innocence is destroyed,
and here is a perfectionist's descent.
Yemaya Feb 2021
"Become perfect."
My eyes are glazed over
Delicate glass tears blur my vision
"Yes,
I promise."
tia Oct 2020
"my body is tired with torn hands
I want to be perfect, more and more
but nothing changes, it only ever hurts"

"when will you be happy?"

"never... I live miserably,
wanting to work myself to exhaustion
waiting for death's release of this worthless vessel
that hates me deeply
perishing underneath dirt and pebble
no one will want me, need me
I will be forgotten and my ideals of perfection soon to be rotten"
Alec Astaire May 2020
To be mundane and in love is all I could ask for,
Simple minded in my pleasures instead of always striving to get more

To be content with my shortcomings as if they never even existed,
Dreaming towards such grounded goals, so attainable I could not miss it

My one true wish is for simpler bliss- a lower bar for jubilation
So that I might have an actual chance to experience self-actualization
Colm Jan 2020
In time, imperfect being knows itself at such
And still accepts that it is
And isn't so much
That which is immediately wanted and more
For all could become in time, in time
So much more than that we ever were before
The point being... we all can grow and change. If you want yourself to be, you probably will. So take responsibly for who you've become.
Saige Jan 2020
Worms were never appealing to you -
seeds, berries, echos, and ghosts you preferred.
And kindred spirits and misty mornings.

I remember I found you alone -
your brothers and sisters strewn around you,
like dead leaves in the fall -
a whisper of their bird-song
still sighing on the wind.

So I held you in my shirt's breast pocket,
and whistled while I knitted a nest.
Just a little bundle of grass and string
but you settled in.

I thought you would sing sad songs in the evenings,
like the wise women that sat on porch swings.
But you just mourned with soulful eyes,
haunted by the shadows of your past.

You waited for something,
a memory, a word, a release.
I saw the knowing in you then -
the knowing of much more than life and death,
than seeds and windows and metal bars.

And I sighed.
How much I long for my own release,
not from life, no:
from my own expectations,
from single-stories and stereotypes.

Let me fly free, you cry.
You're too much like me, I sigh.
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