You told me we  "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you broke my body, my curves

I was your coloring book , your fists  were the pencils colouring me in,
blue, purple, red, completely branding my skin.

I'd apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad...

but really you were the shooter hunting  me down,
The one holding my head underwater hoping I'd drown.

You told me we "accept the love we think we deserve"
As I sat there reflecting on our "love" with reserve,

What we had wasn't love, it was manipulation
Caused by your irrational fixation
Sometimes I miss it
But I know it's a bad thing,
Destructive, deceitful and sometimes even

And I've secretly been planning,
All of this time,
To go back to it,
In a way that no one will notice,
So that I can get away with it
Without hurting anyone for a little bit,
Only that can't happen now.
Plans have changed so that
I'll never be able to hide it,
And I don't want to feel the shame
When people find out.

More still,
They'll send me to more counselling,
Maybe they'll be more intense this time,
If I did it properly, perhaps they'd send me away,
Sometimes I think I don't
want to ever leave my house again.

I know what they would all be thinking,
See we knew it,
She's completely screwed up there,
That's why her body doesn't work properly,
We told you there is nothing physically!

I shouldn't be admitting it.
None of this,
But really it started with a question
To myself:
Is this a relapse?
Of course not!
You see, I don't do that!
Although, I'm not sure if you're aware,
But I never really tell myself
That I've had a relapse,
Unless it's the good kind.

And that makes me sound sick.
There is no good kind,
It's just the one I'd rather be found doing,
Except I wouldn't.
I never want you to hear me gagging, crying, frantically getting rid of the evidence in the bathroom.
And if you insinuate this at any other time,
I'll sound surprised and maybe even offended,
It's all a lie.
No one knows about all those times,
Not too many, but still,
It is still my secret,
That sometimes I wonder if I'll accidentally take to
The grave, my eventual grave.
I use the word sin here in the sense that it's something bad and damaging that should be avoided, not that it's worthy of God's punishment.
You’ve hardened me
And every silver bullet
you’ve lodged into my heart,
I’ve plucked out,
Enduring the pain
And built myself an armor
Out of your betrayal.

And You are not a Phoenix.
Your tears
Will not heal
the open wounds
you have caused
With your trifling talons.
You call yourself fire but you are the water that quenches my flames
You are the dirt that snuffs out the coals
And Buries me.
And the dust that coats my throat
Until I’m choking
And coughing up the coals
I swallowed
Trying to keep the flames alive

But it worked
And they are still flickering inside me.
Keeping me alive

Because I am fire.
But only for myself.
Though I’m sure I have left a few flames in my wake.
I wonder I they’re licking at you
Threatening to swallow you?
I hope instead
you take them as a lend
Bottle them up
In your darkest hour
And until my light, I’ve left in you,
Flickers out,
I hope you let those flames
Left in my wake
light your way.
Swells Jun 9
how far have i gone
to collect these uncomfortable bones
whose aching shakes in my skin
like a hungry hound tied to an empty home.

how many blues have i sown
and harvested from each vein
that failed to bleed red, but screamed
"what are you going to gain?"
and crumbled instead.

how many homes have i burned
that nursed me from fetus in my mind
taking stock of careful crutches
while choking on the smoke
in my lies.

how many words have rotted
and blackened like berries on my tongue
that left the god grown belly trembling for
mercy, and the heart begging
"when is it going to be enough?"
Swells Jul 3
i plunder through swollen sky,
cursed by the air surrounding,
coddled and heated at the pyre
with a stale fist to the stomach
like a sacrificial cow before a feast;
i gather at the table and dine
with serpents at the altar
before the King.

scraped from the plate,
cast into a sack,
and handed 209 pills
i become the Queen of Blue
enrobed in hospital-white flesh
commanding Father to kiss at my feet;
i grow tired of these things and
let the stagnancy seep.

my memoirs crown like
multifaceted gems emerging
from a fatherless Mother
gripped at the neck by some
heretic proclaiming about prodigy
and the people applaud at my feat;
i shake hands with the devil
and go back to sleep.

i slumber across the Atlantic
where i can hear your voice
breaking at the shores, calling
for a revelation in me,
oh!  for the love of God--!
the current worries and swallows
me whole like a crook in need
of a baptizing.
Swells Jul 6
the bones were hard to give up,
they pushed out like daisies
caressed under the hounding
heat of a copper sun.
unbridled and undried they bore
zealous arrogance of themselves,
petals dripping vulgar convictions
and vibrating like awful angels.

under cruel devices they tried to
soften my bones and mold thick skull
constructed of lackluster candles
on their last flame.
days passed like doctors and white nurses
examining old wires that pray tell
the routines, the stools, the teeth.
i am their Jesus, their Lazarus.

my hearse, my sheep keeper,
my pretty things,
i become the acrobat at the
finale, the last supper,
supplementing at the teat of my
recovery. i lay my skin down for all
of you to see:  here is my breast!
my toad belly!  my glass feet!
I can think of it now—
Without the quick pain
That hits below the heart
Like a punch to that place
That hollows out the ribs
For the glands to nestle.
Cautiously I let
The memory slip in
And I brace my body
For the rush of heat
And hormone
That we commonly call hurt.
And when the gland stays quiet
And the heart’s beat stays even
I relax
And know
I’ve weathered that one—
I ran away
To better days

     Don’t stop singing for me

So far away
And almost gone

     Don’t stop dreaming

I ran away
To seek better days

     Keep me in mind and on your heart

I hope you’re sorry
For turning things around

     Don’t stop thinking of me

Maybe someday
I’ll come back around

     Don’t stop fighting through

Maybe I’ll come home to your sweet sound
And I hope you’re listening for sweeter sounds

The price to be paid for seeking residual gain
Is the lost ones never come back the same

I ran away
And I got lost and hurt

     Don’t stop
Sometimes the choices we make hurt, whether the choices are good or bad. But if it hurts too much... Then maybe it's time to reconsider.
It's been a horrific few years
Pushing through eating disorders and enough tears to dappen my feet
But never truly drown my demons
Emotions left harbouring inside,
Like the food I stocked in cupboards that I'll never be brave enough to eat
But I've got through the hard times
And I just wish I had someone to tell me everything would be alright
Now I'm left with a body that I despise, but a better frame of mind
Suffering long term for mistakes I thought would make me feel better
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