today
i was changing after PE
(in the girls locker room, of course.)
too scared to come out to the school.
i was changing out of the blueberry colored sweatpants
when a girl commented
"how did you get those cuts?"
"do you have a cat or something?"
and i just stood there
like a rabbit
hoping
that if i freeze
they won't be able to see me
they ask me if i'm okay
...
i ran away

i know
that i have problems
but i think that they're starting
to turn into issues

The showers after
Always hit different
The skin and cuts sting
Lose my soul
While blood falls down the drain
The next 15 minutes always hit different...
Red liquid flowing and gushing out of my cuts
Cuts

        Cut

                  Cu
                        
                                C

It almost stings
As much as your words
Soap
Wash my mouth with soap
Said too much
Told you too much
Said everything wrong
I can't do anything right
Rub salt to my wounds
Please

Slice
Slice
Slice
I told myself i wasnt addicted
Cut
Cut
Cut
I was doing so well
Scrape
Scrape
Scrape
Got in a fight with my friend
Bleed
Bleed
Bleed
Why do I do this to myself...

Blood bleeds through my jeans
Red blotches, displaying my shame
My pain
Yet they still believe me when i say im ok

It happened again.
How dumb of me to think I could go more that 24 hours without it.
My worst enemy.
My best friend.
My problem.
My solution.
I don't even know why.
It just happened.
I'm so sorry.

I had cookies after lunch
I had it, to tell myself
I could do it
I could eat cookies
and not think about the numbers
I could eat cookies
and not stare into the toilet bowl
I couldn’t do it
I looked into the toilet bowl
Reached into my mouth
And pulled it out
With slow and painful shoves
Though slow,
The way it happens
Is expedited
But it’s not enough
It’s never enough
The inside of the toilet bowl is stained with regret
The inside of my guts are still full of regret
But I cant get it out
It stays
I couldn’t do it
I don’t know when my food
Started tasting like regret
And looking like numbers
I miss how it made me feel
When my parents got me a donut
The smell of the warm bread
The feel of the chocolate between my fingers
I could eat 2 at once
And not give it a second thought
All 2 donuts are now
Is 500
500 too many
500 more of regret
I don’t want to think about the numbers
On the scale
Of my food
The number of scars I’ve painted on my thigh
I’ve never preferred math

When will it stop?
The constant, confusing whiplash
Of hatred
Of acceptance
Of compelled shoving fingers down your throat
Of etching paintings into your skin, with a pointed brush
If only to release
When will it stop?
The hypocrisy of trying to help someone
When you can barely help yourself
Sitting in front of a screen, telling them it'll all be fine
But you have a blade in your hands
And a finger in your throat
When will it stop?
The vicissitude of everyday
Blythe simplicity on one
Slowly killing yourself the next
The good days, I'm able to have a painful relationship with food
Thinking, but not acting
Even if for an hour
For that hour, I am whole and I am free
But the bad days, silent ruminations engulf my head
Of painting scarlet
And expelling
When will it stop?
The compulsions taking over me

fat,
rolls of fat,
skin,
filled with scars,
heart,
about to explode,
hurt,
i hurt,
everyone around me,
im hurt,
'cause i dont mean to,
yet i still do,
i look in the mirror,
disgust is allll i see,
fat, scars, pain,
a pile of rotted flesh,
trying to do the impossibe,
look and feel better.

How gut wrenching it is
To know
How many sunsets I missed
Because I was angry
How many sunrises I missed
Because I was sad
And all the clouds in between
Because I didn’t care