dont, or, at least pretend to.
2. write poetry about them. let all of your poetry be about them, make it clear. so people come to you after slams and say im sorry for your loss. make them think they died. remember it was really you who passed
3. let the swim into every detail of your life. cook meals and wish you were eating it with them. make playlists of their favourite songs. get tattoos thinking about them. let them sleep in your skin.
4. reread your texts. listen to voicemails. read letters over and over again. let their voice be what rocks you to sleep and nightmares of them crying again jolt you awake. let them steal sleep from you. they deserve it more.
5. start crying again. you stopped letting yourself cry months ago. start, and dont stop. cry when you have that dream about the again. join them in their sorrow, but let yours be a different kind.
6. learn to hate them. what they liked, they way they moved. teach yourself to despise them. you mightve ruined 'us' but make it their fault. move the weight of the sky from your shoulders to theirs.
7. pretend youre teaching yourself to love yourself. start wearing your binder to sleep. it might make cure dysphoria, but it will not cure the bruised ribs. 'meeting people' will become finding people to hook up with. 'going out' will becoming staying home and drinking till youre sick.
8. pretend you do not still love them. lie to yourself, lie to your friends. 'im fine' you say, 'im over them' you are not. you are stuck under them. they are the rock, and your depression is the hard place.
9. dont call it depression. dont let it be. tell yourself to man up and get over it, like medication and therapy is for crazy people and you are NOT crazy.
10. slowly, let yourself forget. let yourself stop reading the messages. stop writing the poems. stop looking at your tattoos and thinking about how they loved the moon that night.
11. again, stop. stop drawing, writing, thinking. forget about your schoolwork and remember your bed. forget about your friends, and remember your bed. forget about eating, remember your bed
12. take your friend's advice and eat something. lie to them and say you feel better. lie and say youre happy. start lying again.
13. 13 was our lucky number. i think that has something to do with the 13 parts of you i cannot let go of.

I wonder if you have any idea of what you’ve done
You think that I think that I have won.
I have not won.
And you, dear, you are not fooling anyone.
I let you in and you became a hurricane,
destroying with no aim,
turning a paled eye to my face,
you’d say your words,
you’d shoot your mace,
And you say I was the winter breeze that shook bare your trees,
killing your vibrant reds of Autumn leaves,
But Autumn leaves are already dying, you see
I didn’t see what you’d make out of me.
You’d create a shadow of a cold candle,
burnt out,
smokey thoughts billowing around my head
ceasing to leave
in the dizzy hours of the morning until i have gone through and picked out the stitches of every word of every conversation id sewn together with you,
finding nothing but two children with no one longing for someone who would not leave.
I cannot believe that I did not see
your slurring, grim toxicity,
I wore a bullet proof vest around everyone i knew
no one saw underneath,
yet for you, I put forth my shattered youth,
to you, I exposed the truth
and put the vest away
and in the beginning we fixed each other,
we wrapped ourselves in blankets of the other’s colors
but by the end, the blanket’s colors began to bleed with our own

You distracted me from the
dead hiding in the (hellish) words you put in my head
by the illusion of warmth
In your fiery shades of orange,
I did not notice my shades of blues,
you would melt me,
or I would extinguish you.

To the boys who like girls with eating disorders.

1. Be unafraid to call her beautiful. Feel no hesitation when articulating the grace in her intricacies. The delicacy she wields when flicking back her hair. The shape her semblance set in as she sleeps. The way… she holds a fork.
Even as you call her beautiful  you may experience pangs of guilt. Acknowledge that despite your appreciation for her formation you do not want her to be like this forever. Watch as polite small talk and casual compliments get swallowed up by half full plates and half empty stomachs. Watch her try to chew and words you feed.

2. If you make if to boyfriend status. Her disease may begin to look like the ex partner she’s still hung up over. Watch as she quotes all his favorite things he use to tell her. Do not tell me, I look like I’m getting better I can’t look like getting better. She may look like the embodiment of the phrase “old habits die hard”. But remember… Mother taught you patience and forgiveness. When someone abuses you, you may be vocal about it or you may repress it but you do not forget, and boy... she has some scars. Across every angular bone protruding where a body use to be. In every atrophied muscle where disease did once grip and seek to claim something as it’s own. In every mirror. In darker shop windows where that display mannequins sport the latest illness and in every look you give her. There is no vaccination for this victimization. It will take time.

3... If her condition has left her anxious...

Left her white in the face like porcelain plates serving a future that tastes like insecurity.

If her condition has left her hopeless. Left her thinking that a full stomach means an empty future.
If her condition has left her broken, in any sense of the word, he is not without fixture.
She was a woman before she was a victim. She was a person before she was a patient. She is still a woman, she is still a person. She has a destination outside of disorder. She has dreams that could be bigger than these demons.

And 4… and this is not is not for the boys who like girls with eating disorders, this is for the boys who love!
4. Do you think she is worth it? What can you outweigh?.. Can you make her smile, can you... fill her?

you call her a ****,
you call her a *****,
you tear her skin into tiny shreds
and then beg for more,
your masculinity is fuelled by the sexuality you stripped her of.
she has no right to be liberated in your eyes,
but your eyes also want to see what is in between her thighs,
your respect for her body only exists as long as she is your possession.

a woman is to you what a table is to a person;
something to use,
sometimes a burden.
a woman can't be outspoken without being a *****,
but if she's quiet you treat her like ****,
you tell us to fight for what we believe in,
but when we do you tell us we're complaining,
(maybe you think I'm complaining)
while you're thinking about that
please mind the wage gap,
yes the wage gap MORE THINGS TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!
I get 75 pence for every pound a man makes,
maybe I'm making mistakes?
no, no I am not.
perhaps some people have forgot
that someone's *** doesn't make them under qualified,
I think your brain is nonaligned,  
because right now in two thousand and sixteen a woman should be respected even if she isn't the ******* queen.

I hope you can see what struggles women endure,
we may as well go back years and years and knit at home while you go to war.

I'll just be over here cleaning the entire house,
oh and while I'm at it I'll clean that glass ceiling while waiting for my husband and feeding my offspring
because that's all a woman does right?
cook clean and nurture, and give yourself to your husband at night
God forbid you swing the other way!
single, or worse...
no kids and gay!

women have to fit into perfect cookie cutters.
that, and a size 6
but not too skinny though, men aren't nutters!
big *****, big *** and a small waist
your extra few inches of skin can be erased with diet pills, exercise plans and corsets!
if not, you can choose the forfeit,
of society telling you that you can achieve your dream beach body,
to catch the attention of somebody
preferably a man who can be the bread winner,
while we can stay at home, look after his kids and cook his dinner.

I'll stop complaining now and go back to concealing my blemishes and under eye bags,
while you talk to your friend about how we are still just slags.

~T.T

Womanhood

In my ever eternal fight between
Pain and rapid mood swings
I have learned to accept
What I have been given by my mother.

Womanhood

In my ever insulting fight between
Objectification and misunderstanding
I have come to understand
"My body is a temple"
Is not a complement but an insult.

Womanhood

As my hair grows longer and longer
And I cut it shorter and shorter
And people tell me to "look more feminine"
I can't help but dress "more masculine."

Womanhood

Because I have to accentuate my assets
With tight jeans and skinny dresses
And if I forget a push-up bra
"It's a boy" jokes are made.

Womanhood

Because my knowledge of cars
And my firm hand shake
Awes men and makes them test me
Instead of conversing with me and moving on with their day

Womanhood

Because I am scared to leave the house by myself
And my father's overbearing protection
Instead of believing I can protect myself
In any given situation

Womanhood

Because my brother can go out whenever he wants
And can curse like a sailor
But I have to be a sweet southern belle
And answer a million and one questions just to take a walk

Womanhood

Because we have to justify ourselves
Because guys have to be perfect in the eyes of "feminists"
Because all of this bullsh!t has gone over the edge.

Womanhood

I can't call myself a feminist
And I sure ain't a misogynist
I'm just trying to scrape by
Just trying to get through this trying

Womanhood

https://youtu.be/7E9s-Fpq44I

not sure how this is going to work, but I wrote a slam poem and would like if you checked it out (copy and paste the link above)

I heard them saying:
"she goes places sometimes".
I knew they meant I leave sticky notes on their mirrors saying "I'll be back, but don't wait up".

I knew that they meant that I sometimes take the long way home for the view, even if the view is the industrial sight where my ambition died.

I knew they meant that, there are voices in my head that are screaming at me dark thoughts, so loud that sometimes they can hear them too.

I knew that they meant I don't wear yellow anymore because I'm afraid I'll go blind; that my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light that surrounds me.

I knew they meant no harm.
I knew they didn't want me to hear them.

I knew they meant that I practice holding my breath for countless minutes just incase they catch me playing dead in the bathtub again.

I knew they meant that I read the endings of books before starting them so I won't be disappointed. I knew they meant that I'm tired of being disappointed.

I knew they meant that I am weaker than usual; that I don't wear as many sharp edges or that I don't smell like kerosene after it's been set on fire.

that I don't ignite at the sound of pistols, I just welcome bullets.

that I don't walk on the perimeter of the ocean, I just drink the water till the salinity makes me see the world in different colours.

that I'm not afraid of heights, I'm just afraid of falling.
that I wear a kind of loneliness that doesn't wash off.

I knew they were trying their best to be gentle,
but I was trying my best to be tough.

but when you light the world on fire time after time, you get tired of rebuilding walls.

you get tired of looking your best; of drawing attention; of wearing yellow.

you get tired of holding your breath, and you let in the voices.

and you take the long way home, and you don't feel bad that you didn't leave a note.

I don’t like you
But I love you.
I can hear you asking me
How can that possibly be?
You either love me
Or you hate me.
But that really isn’t reality.
Your behavior is ******* me.

It’s true, I love you
But, things you do
Are some actions I hate
Quite obnoxious of late;
You carry on badly
And often quite madly.
I don’t want you around then.
Come back when sane again.

The you that I like
Has taken a hike
And left behind a spoiled brat
Who has no idea where it’s at.
You once were sweet
As anyone could meet
Then you fell for your own hype
And I never enjoy that type.

No, I don’t like you
But I do love you
And that makes it really tough
But loving you is not enough
To see you daily
And act all gaily
When I can’t stand what you do.
Because I really don’t like you.