i never seem
to get enough
rest
these days
always waking
up
tired

to start coffee,
****,
fix my hair,
sit in bed drinking
the coffee
plumbing the depths
for
ways to get through
another day,
****,

try to remember ways
that worked
before

maybe a quote
or a character
a poem
a song
a memory
an illusion
could even be
another person

but time draws
ever nearer
ever closer
until
at last
that silent cheetah
is sprinting

before i know it
i'm sitting
in my car
turning the key
with whatever
semblance and steel
i finally gathered

-a real live
cubist representation
of my
self
driving to work
at 3:49 a.m.

passing  
three black cats
in
the street
that watch me
carefully,
the glowing night
white-hot
in their eyes


satellites of some
indifferent future

hidden with
the devils
on the horizon

Bought somethings that you want
Hated the things that you need
It's all pretty and fun
Puckering up your small *** lips
But once the sun hit
You can't refund it.

You felt uncomfortable in your own skin
And your body is too ******* thin
But just so you know
That women and men
Aren't supposed to be treated like this.

God made us perfect in every inch
Of our face, of our legs, of our hands
But beauty is all that people dreams
Perfect is all that people think.

If you aspire to renovate every inch of your body,
Then where's the girl that she used to be?
Where's the guy that I used to see?
Where's the heart that used to be free?

if it hurts
you’re doing it right.

graceful arms, girls.

pointed feet.

plié, plié…
first position, long legs, extend your necks- yes, that’s right.





i just wanna look like a ballerina again.

I wanna hear my stomach collapse
Rumbling like screams echoing in an empty tavern
I want stalactite ribs
And stick-man fingers,
Thighs the size of a child’s wrist and
I don’t care what I have to do
To get it

I am obsessed.
Addicted to falling,
Falling numbers,
Falling deeper into disorder, disrepair,
Falling for a girl named Ana
Who tells me I can have everything that I want
For easy daily payments of pain and despair.

But, it feels oh so good to be hungry.
Aches and pains make me high,
And sure, it’s scary knowing I could die but
At this point…
Maybe I’d be okay with that if I get to live one day
At 100 pounds.

What is wrong with me?

Checking in
to weigh in
the weight
of years
waiting
to burn
off

upon the thick chill of modern life

she reflects, drawing over the body,
a thin blanket of cashmere,
how it miraculously
denies the chilling, its darkening physicality

I,
I listen in non-responsive, full attentiveness,
thinking perhaps a poem she is demanding,
“we all need more miracle blankets in our lives”

I wanna eat something
but it won't fill me up
only drag me down.

Bony parts bruise faster.
I think to myself.
I look down at my arms. They are tinted yellow from the fading bruises.

Fatty parts bruise harder.
I think to myself.
I look down at my thighs, they have black spots scattered over them.

I sigh and touch my collarbones protruding from my body.
I stack the coins. I can fit 17 on each collarbone.

I look in the mirror and I know I am looking at a hollowed out skeleton, but all I see is me .. just as I've always looked, grey, boring, ordinary...