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Shanijua May 26
As I sit here, staring at the lunch I had an hour ago, I can't help but to feel disgusted.
As hard as I try to ignore it, the saliva dripping onto my feet makes its way into my consciousness, reminding me of how low I am.
I constantly avoid looking at my hands, for seeing what I have done makes me want to despise myself even more than I already do.
The dull throbbing at the base of my neck coming from this compromising position almost makes me want to sit up straight and put an end to this activity; however, I know that I don't want to stop, not yet.
I have so much more I know I can let go
CONTENT WARNING: Eating disorder mentioned
Shanijua May 25
Food. What is food?
Is it something everyone needs to survive? Is it the thing that takes forever to make and has even less time time to enjoy?
Is it the beautiful plants that grow in the right season that produces so much pride that they deserve an instagram post?
Or is the thing that many people will never have the money to see?
For me, it is the center of everyday. It is the one thing that I know dictates my entire life. It is the one thing I wish I could forget and the one thing I wish I could live without.
It is the thing that forces me to do math, and it is the thing that keeps me from knowing any sort of satisfaction.
It is the thing that makes me wish I were someone else, anyone else.
It is the thing that I spend hours thinking about, measuring, classifying, and the one thing that I can never seem to get correct. It is also the thing that makes me cry at night. It makes me feel alone.
It is the thing that causes me to spend every day working out even when I don't want to, and it has made me be friends with a scale that isn't very friendly.
It is a bully, a cruel "ex" friend that wishes I were never born and it is a fighter that knows how to pack a heavy punch.
For me, it has not been very kind. It has been the thing that controls who I am.
It is THE thing, and sadly, it is everything.
CONTENT WARNING: This is about food/ eating disorders.
Sometimes, life is not very kind. I will get better, I just need time. And a little help.
Where were you when life dripped off my chin?
Intaking's a sin. You're a sinner.
I can't eat dinner, I'm not hungry.
It means nothing. THIS MEANS NOTHING.
It's the mirror, and it's controlling.
Reloading another bullet for a throat that's decomposing, and
as acid clambered up my mouth, I had quick thoughts of death.
A moment where flesh and bone may rot away the failed flavor,
yet a knotted mass of pain I'll never lose stings today,
gauging my limbs until nothing remains of me.
This pain is an everlasting parasite, and I cannot be saved,
for this nasty sickness is called a brain to me.
Hello. I'm sorry I've barely ever been active on here, and I know that
I've surely lost most of my following but that's okay.
Stay strong.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2019
the price you pay to be thin
you won’t even miss your fee,
it's just the feeling of empty

nevermind the color in your face,
draining into plastic bags,
filled with last nights hunger

no matter your darkening smile,
cracking into sunflower blossoms,
that you hide behind your knuckles.

don't bat an eye at your thinning hair,
swimming in your bathroom drain
strangling your hope of recovery.

now what could those tired eyes,
broken and red with strain say that
puffy cheeks and chapped lips cannot

lips like concrete, spilling weeds,
lips stuffed with cigarette love,
lips that once bloomed spoken word

but you smell of no dandelions.
you wear perfume of stomach bile
mixed with the stench of hatred.

the smell that every bathroom you visit
knows like the back of your hand,
the hand scarred with teeth’s embrace.

the side effects aren’t pretty
but that’s all a small price to pay
for the feeling of trying to be thin.
Diane K Jan 2019
I've never felt more alone
than I do inside my very own home.

If the goal was to break me
Why couldn't you have done it much more quickly?
Diane K Jan 2019
Keep looking you might find something that will leave you unsettled.
A text, a photo, perhaps even a letter.

False promises, empty proclamations,  a hollow vow to do better
Lies, craziness, a truly pointless endeavor.

Keep convincing me of what I already know. We're broken, we shattered and I don't much care whose at fault.
He's in my heart, she's in your vault.

"We'd be better friends than partners." You've  often exclaimed.
You offer to share equally yet its me holding the majority of blame.

That's really not true, its not how I feel.
You ruined us.
You're the one who broke the deal.
Flattened the wheel
Flat tired the heel
Threw up the Happy Meal
Slipped on the banana peel
Tangled the fishing reel
Ripped apart  the seal
Ordered the Veal

I'm at a standstill
I need to get off of the treadmill
My world has gone downhill
I'm an actress in my own life
see the playbill.
I play the role of an imbecile

You lay on our bed, sharing photos of your ****
honestly, I don't care you've become quite the *****.
Alcoholic
You're really quite sick
No flame, no wick
No tock for my tick
You think your slick?
It's actually quite pathetic
tragic, chaotic
It's become my epidemic.

I don't hear any music
I don't  feel very poetic
I just feel you're a brick
leaving me frantic
and even worse
so very very very heartsick.
Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
It's telling looking through
the window’s eyes ; 
a room with a paling grey glass view
befogs the clouds reign inside the storm
Often feeling misbegotten regret
for the unfiltered passing glimpses,
whetstone honed and splayed ;
raw hues of a latent life exposed

There's an uncertain hidden shame
in the unheard truth
starving out in the cold;
dwelling in a petrifying silence
of a common hunger
the lonely do ache
  
Merciless hunger pangs
manifest and shake
with an unrelenting bitter taste ;
loneliness grapples and grips
like a silent earth quake
rattling a rib caged heart — writhing
as Autumn bares the trees
  
A jagged ambiguous fault line
ripples through the hollow echo ;
a bolt of lightning caught in a bottle
strikes — silently contained
swallowing the unspoken words
in a greater good

This broken merry-go-round
keeps turning round and round;
the great mandala spinning on
like a worn out hamster-wheel
without a conscious trace
of going anywhere out there

The place you come from
is gone when you leave it —
even if you really never
feel you were from anywhere
but a thousand unmarked mileposts
from out here somewhere adrift;
a pilgrimage towards understanding
why sometimes I don’t know
if I know who I am — or could have been —
waiting on a threadbare prayer

One-day the winds of change
will shapeshift — bye and bye ...

"When the light that's lost within us
reaches the sky"


Jesse Stillwater

November 2018
"When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky"
from:  "Before The Deluge"    written by: Jackson Browne
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