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Rowan 1d
Don’t expect me to say “I’m okay,”
because I started to go to therapy.

Don’t expect me to smile
because I stopped hurting myself.

Don’t expect me to heal
when I can’t go a day without the thought.

Don’t expect anything from me,
you’ll be greatly disappointed.

And don’t expect me to say thank you
when you stay,
I’m too selfish to say anything.

Or maybe I can’t talk, move my lips to form words,
haven’t you noticed?

And now that I’m here,
I can’t even cry without fear cradled next to the tears.
No, no crying for me. Not again.

Don’t expect me to leave my dorm,
When out there, I can’t hear their voices,
because somehow those who don’t know anything about me
make me the most comfortable.

Don’t expect me to say the truth “I’m empty and lost and emotionless and apathetic and so full of nothing, I don’t know how to break,”
because I go out from my dorm
or go to class or any of the clubs.

And expect me to say “I’m fine.”
I seem to reward myself for bad behavior, and while others don’t understand it to be bad, it gnaws at me. Grows like a tumor, because even if an accident, or happenstance, I still seem to shrink, but not before my body rebels and solidifies into making me gorge on fiber until I lose the nerve and rush to other means. I’m not supposed to do it on purpose, not like Lori, and I hold myself back, convinced that my weight-loss is not an extension of my personality, but I cant help but admit I’m obsessed with the scale. Obsessed with an anti-me. My therapist doesn’t see the pattern, and maybe she is right, but I am too busy worrying about becoming obsessed that I have become obsessed with being obsessed. A hundred and seven pounds, and I have had to seriously fight to control myself not to create harm, and when my stomach doesn’t seem to want to let go of food after days, I can’t help but go to my medicine cabinet, find the laxative, and let my body suffer in such an embarassing way.

I watched Lori do it, and I swore I wouldn’t. But I am, even if for the sake of relief, of release. And I swear it’s not a habit, but that means nothing come every Monday when I have to be the beacon at the group weigh-ins, to mark some kind of false sense of hope for others. They call me an inspiration, and even if not intentional, I feel like I have been cheating.

My grandfather asks me every time I tell him about my weight-loss, “Are you sure you aren’t hurting yourself?” and I am reminded of the decades of humiliation he wrought upon me due to my obesity. What right does he have to ask of harm when he helped drive me to four hundred and more pounds? Maybe this is punishment for all the times his words cut deep enough to make me keep eating in anguish. Maybe I’ll just keep losing long after I hit my goal until there is nothing left– not even dust to be carried along with the wind.

Thoughts like that make me worry that it has evolved from lifestyle change to pure, unadulterated obsession. The kind I have seen time and time again.

My family has always been riddled with addicts.
Sara Kellie Jul 9
She's spent all the rent on
cigarettes and cider,
so pull out your cock and put
it inside her.
No need to bring your polished game,
for this one's a slut and that
is her name.
In her cunt or up her bum.
The choice is yours,
where d'ya wanna cum?
Say "You fuckin' slut, get down on all fours, 'cause this is how I fuck little whores!
Impale her on your hardened stick and explode inside her, creamy and thick.
Bangin' her fuck hole,
it used to be tight.
It's not anymore,
it gets wider each night.
Then when you are done,
wipe the rest up her back,
letting her know most got
shot up her crack.
Next week she'll be suckin',
an appetizer before fuckin'
This slut she don't care,
for a TGirl with red hair.

X-rated
Poetry by Kaydee.
Just a creative imagination, I guess.
;)
Rowan Sep 10
She stood up, her hair pulled back into two braids,
A question lingering on her lips as she stared at me.
“Why don't you want to get better?” She asked, a face of intrusion
I looked at her, feeling for an answer that I knew existed somewhere
“I think,” I started to say, “That I want to, but I've grown so used to feeling wrong,
That I no longer understand how to feel right. There is a monster inside of my body,
he bears my name, he haunts my mind, and whispers to me. He has me wrapped around her finger, a delicious little nightmare.”
The girl stared at me with squinted eyes and a confused smile.
“I don't understand, you put yourself into your work, does he go to? Does your nightmare walk with you everyday?”
“He flows through my fingers into the ink on this page and every page; he leaves me behind sometimes, and when he does, I am less than nothing. Yes, you can see me then, but I am not me without her. My little nightmare's heart is my own. Learning to live without my pretty little nightmare is like being thrown into the ocean and not knowing how to swim.”
A look of dawning appeared in her eyes, spotted with curiosity,
In this place of white walls and white floors and white beds
This was the only color
“Wouldn't it help if you weren't left alone with her? You always lock yourself away in that awful room with no one to help you.”
I could reply with a sharp retort, a tactic of distance,
But she wasn't being mean and simply wanted to understand
Which is more than most have tried to do.
“I isolate myself because fighting her and speaking with you are exhausting to a guy like me.”
I gave her a weak smile, a shattered smile, but a smile with red lips and white teeth all the same.
“What kind of guy are you?”
My eyes faded and my mouth shut
A streak of memory burst through my heart, a twisted bolt poisoned
“A broken one.”
She gave me a toothy grin, a contagious grin
and skipped up to me with her little red shoes.
“Let me put you back together again. I promise I won't lose a piece.”
She grabbed my hands and pulled me out of my chair
Fear shocked my body as my sleeves were pulled away,
revealing the masterpiece I'd drawn on my skin with iron
But the little girl only took out a band aid and put it over a scar, saying
“I won't let you fall apart again. I'll help you learn to live again. I promise.”
She gave me her pinky finger and crossed it over mine. “Pinky promise.”
And then jumped up and down with excitement.
I looked over as a white gowned woman entered the room.
“Miss,” I called out. “Why is she here?” I pointed to the little girl
The nurse said with a sad truth, “She brought herself in, said her mother left her and she hurt and that this is where hurting people came, sweet child.”
I looked back at the child, grinning at me
And she stared back at me, a whisper caressing her mind
“Please don't leave me. Everyone leaves. Are you going to leave?”
I took her in my arms, and told her this—
“I won't go away. I'll stay with you and you'll stay with me. I promise.”
Roll the cylinders
and sweat the culmination
of trigger's trepidation
I saw the "Deerhunter" (more than once), one of the best movies I think Robert De Niro ever did, I still wince when they pull the trigger D:
CallMeB Aug 28
Your nails were like razor blades cutting against my skin.
I asked begged you to stop but
you wouldn’t.

When I look
in the mirror all I see
is your handprints; all I feel is disgust.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m a skeleton
of the person I used to be.
You didn’t care.

You just kept looking at me with that same malicious smile.
You tainted my skin
all with the touch of your hands.
Your mouth.

I was always told
my body was a temple, and I protected it as such,
but you forced your way in and I was helpless.

You looked right through me as
you held me down and had your way with me.
It’s still hard for me to say those words, what you did to me —
you defiled me in such a horrendous way

I thought there was no coming back —
i still think that.
CryBaby Di Aug 22
"Shot down
in cold blood
with my own gun.
The one
I would have
taken a bullet for,
is the one
that I ended up
taking a bullet from."
Yes you can blame it to the world, You can blame the stars and the moon,
For all the pain,the losses, tears, the loneliness you never wanted,
And the greatest fear that holds you back and makes you down,
Make up your mind or Make blown your mind?

Decisions are decisions, There's a final choice you can't undo,
If you brave enough to pull the trigger through your skull,
Then why you aren't brave to tell god you needed him?
That you can't but you need his guidance and love,

Its heavier than everything else, Its darker than a night,
Ignore them, the whispers,the devil, jokes, the sickness of ignorance,
And the whole cage that imprisoned your soul,
Do the right thing or make fast solving things?

One Life, No turning back, You can't have nine lives to retry,
If you are brave to cut yourself,
Then why you aren't brave to face all the struggles?
And why you aren't strong to pursue your life?
Shylee W Aug 19
Your yelling reverberates off the car windows,
so loud,
I can picture them cracking.
I've pulled my body far away rom yours
and locked a trembling fist around the door handle.
It's a precaution beaten into me  
since I was ten.
I know he is never you, but faces morph
And you're turning into a monster.


Flashes of everything hit quickly.


The swift slap, miscalculated, and across my ear so hard it burns.
The swift turn of my step as I see your smiling face on a limestone boulder, it cracks at the edge
and your foot slips.
The swift feeling in my gut as I finally turn to you in this rusted 1957 Jeep CJ-5
And realize,
You're not him.

I should speak because my silence is bleeding into you.


And when I finally do,
We're both confronted with our past hurting.


I see your demon and she's dark haired with running fire in her mouth that took away your freedom.
And you see mine,
Who's forty years older than me and only responds to "dad"
When he's not emptied a bottle of dark liqour.
Shylee W Aug 19
My hearts a grave and its abysmal.
I live my life inside out, showing people the hollowness of my innards before they dare touch me.
I have nothing left to give, nothing left to grieve.
I’m an embodiment of the word emptied.
Don’t touch me.
I could spoil you, turn your insides black. Rot your center and watch you crawl away slack limbed and jawless.
Diseases aren’t made, they’re born.
Don’t forget that.
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