vic Sep 12

The thing about glass shoes is that they break far too easily
In order to wear them, you have to glide like an angel
Sing like a delicate hummingbird
And weigh as much as one of their feathers
Wearing glass slippers takes a lot of practice.
If you press a little too hard, your feet are engulfed by glass shards
It's the fine line between beauty and self-harm.
Glass slippers are meant to be worn by princesses.
They symbolize all your fairy-tale dreams coming true
If only they didn't break whenever I set my foot in them.
I do my best to make myself petite for my glass slippers
Using the old pieces to carve out my cheekbones and make my love handles disappear
Somedays I wonder if I've crossed that line between beauty and harm
But I'll do anything it takes to get that Cinderella waistline.
You know what they say,
"A dream is a wish your heart makes,"
I have to do what my heart says, right?

Found this old poem, decided to revise it.
India Hares Aug 31

What's the cost to be pretty?
I'm fat
My stomache is out of place they say
Don't eat
I want to look in mirror and be happy
People shouldn't tease me because I'm not skinny
be skinny
Who cares if I'm unhealthy
That's what it takes to be pretty

This is disgusting that I felt like this enough to write it ofur months back
Eleanor Aug 31

What is skinny?
Is it the rude word for slim?
Similar to fat vs curvy?
Or is it something else?

Maybe it' a feeling,
when you're below a certain BMI.
Or when you find that perfect swimsuit,
or your best angle.

What if it's a mindset,
defining who you are?
your perfect stereotype,
or something far worse...

A goal.
The thing you strive for everyday.
The only thing that matters.
A living breathing entity.
Your world.
Your friend.
Your enemy.
Your downfall!

k a Aug 23

people only start caring when you're deadly skinny.

Belle Aug 5

these are not monsters. there are no monsters here.
these feel like love, and when they enter you
they feel like something that was once missing is finally home.
how could monsters make such pretty girls?
such pretty girls,
such pretty skinny girls,
they look like the most glamorous parts of life. like everything
that is wonderful about being alive,
like diet cokes
and pictures of hip bones on a sunny, sandy day at the beach
here i am and all i’ve eaten for the past three days is my own fingernails
and these not monsters
can make you beautiful too.

you’ll learn to make jokes about why you’re cutting
the banana you brought for lunch
(and breakfast, and dinner)
into thirty-five pieces.
bringing the tiny pieces to your mouth from
folded napkin with exquisite fingers
to tentative tongue
and when the jokes become too unmanageable,
and taste too much like sustenance,
like letting go, like pleasure,
learn to put a stand hold to lunch,
forget what it means and
by the end of your senior year
you’ll know every spot in that school of yours
where no one will ask where your peers are
and why you look so tired,
and so sad

the not monsters
will tell you all their secrets.
you’ll learn that toothpick thin bones, when crushed
into ashes and stirred into
the twenty, thirty, forty glasses of water you planned on drinking today
taste like sweet, sweet lemonade
and you can drink it
for only the cost of the rest of your waking life spent praising
the feeling of emptiness
looking up number after number
and dead girl after number
you, too, can spend the rest
of your day smelling of what
you just had to flush down the
bathroom toilet.

go, they will tell you,
boney shaking hands, bottle cap wrists
make sure to memorize menus and all the lies you will have to tell
spend hours at the grocery store obsessing and counting
one hundred
two hundred
no more than three, of course
or else your thighs begin to blow up like the balloons
from all the parties you could never go to
you will learn to avoid celebration
because celebration means food
cake, chips, soda, foods you simply cannot consume
you will spend christmas day
dreaming about burying
your dissolving teeth into your knuckles and biting at your shirt
until your heart stops.

the not monsters
will feed you your first cigarette
and your second, and your tenth.
they will leave your once healthy and shiny hair
in a clump
on your pillowcase, just for you.
in your friends hand, while being braided.

and when your body gets too frail,
it starts to fall apart,
but where sick breaks skin
flowers will grow.
an entire garden will rise and grow
itself from your empty, malnourished stomach
rippling out your mouth and you’ll choke on the flowers
but you’ll be joyous
because at least you’re not consuming calories.
you’ll disintegrate
until you cannot be seen differently
from all the skeletons that are currently
living in your closet
don’t you just wish you could shrink
don’t you wish you could have that control
don’t you just wish you could make nobody know about this
because they just don't get why you’d do this
you don’t get why you’d do this
you’re so so smart but you just googled
how many calories are in mouth wash
the pretty girls
pretty skinny girls
pretty dying girls
pretty dead girls
the parasite can be restrained but it cannot not destroyed.
but it does not even matter.
it’s a beautiful thing to be made of porcelain. to be fragile. delicate. beautiful.
the picture of your hip bones at the beach was worth it.

Emith Hart Jul 30

I should have my phone taken away from me.
I take pictures of myself with it
All the time,
Just to make myself feel
About myself,
If that is even possible.
I use the photos like a zoomed in
Something made to specifically
Point out my flaws.
To point out
The scars
The rolls
The bumps
All of the things that are perfectly
But I don't want
The only thing
Has done for me
Is make me want to shed
My body
For one entirely different.
In a way,
I am,
Shedding my
I have changed,
A lot.
I have grown to
The pain in the pit of my gut.
I have figured out
To make my bones protrude
From beneath my skin.
I have learned to
How much I eat.
I have figured a way to
Toss my food,
Instead of consume it.
Because I would rather
Than consume another
To have another
On my body.
I have the
Amount of
Over myself,
But I am no more
Everything just
And no,
I can't "Just Eat"
To stop that
It doesn't work like
Things are so much more
I wish they weren't.
Just maybe,
If they weren't,
I might love
Instead of
Over a damned
Every morning.

A family resort

has summer deport

where this howl upon bear

must pray as song does appeal

that really trivializes this complacently

with noxious heat in highest mountains

as wonders elicit their ground again

though plause for such ovation

now garner law in woods.

As Susan Collins
Emith Hart Jul 27

You tell me I am wrong to think the way I do.
God, I wish I could just stop thinking the way I do.
But I can't.
These things are engrained.
The collarbones,
The ribs,
The hipbones.
The things I crave.
All I can think is
All I can tell myself is
But I am not thin.
When I look in the mirror,
I am disgusted.
I pinch at my skin,
And I beat it as punishment,
For being
And I know that
Flaws are natural,
And nothing about this
Is natural.
But that stopped making a difference
A long,
Time ago.
Not dying.
None of that matters.
Skinny stopped being
Being bones
Is all I ache for.
And I am nowhere near
I am nowhere near
I am nowhere near
But it's all I want.
And it's what I
My body for.
I'm broken,
And nobody can fix me.
I have been like this for years.
God, I wish I didn't have to be
If I weren't
I wouldn't let my body ache,
And Decay
For my version of
If I weren't
I wouldn't kill myself
Every day.

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