there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.

I know that the whole thing about love is it's who you miss at 2pm when you're busy, not 2am when you're lonely.
Baby it's 8:50pm and I'm as lonely as I've ever been.

I can't stand my friends when they're with their other, my love life is lived through them.
Its not that I want what they have,
Its that I want to feel warm arms around my body instead of the cold embrace of my AC.

It's that I want someone to run shivers down my back by placing their cold hands on my bare side and allow my body heat to warm them.
Its that I want to feel a deep passionate love.

Its that all it ever is is me and me alone.

Is that what you thought when I told you we were done?

Did you think to yourself "I hope you enjoy the cold arms of the lovers who don't actually love you?"
"You'll miss the way I looked at you"
"You'll miss the way I kissed you"
"You'll miss the way I loved you"

Did you think how happy you would be to see me so sad?
Because you know I can't help myself and I can't stay away from you,
Even if you're poison to my veins.

Did you, in after being months apart, me running to you, looking for shelter from the rain, have the joy in seeing my face twist in agony as you push me away?

Did you ask yourself if I ever loved you,
And convince yourself I didn't?
If leaving you twice times the same way was so simple so must the third
But darling I'm falling.

I'm falling into pits of my own darkness.

I saw a pencil sharpener and took out the blade.
I cleaned it and hid it and think about it every day.
And right after the thought of that I think of you and what you would say

You May not be my 2pm thought
But you're my thought at 9pm
When I tell my demons no
And throw my blade away.

I'm seventeen.
I have scars lining my ribs, my thighs, my arms and my mind.
I either count my calories or blur them altogether; 500 a day or 4000 a day.
I am not an athlete.
I have no illnesses.
I've never been diagnosed.
I've simply been attempting to be the woman I've been demanded I be.
I'm failing, miserably.
Right now:
My mom is unconscious, failing to drown herself in alcohol.
My sister has locked herself in her room, isolating.
My dad is telling my neighbors their views are wrong,
And I am lying in bed, binge eating.
I'm seventeen.
This poem really does not have a beat.
This poem is a flow,
steadier than my self esteem.
Mirrors lie and pictures steal.
TV taunts and horror is real,
I'm seventeen and
I've tried to die,
I've learned to lie
To family.
I'm no stranger to the sisters death and night.
Death;
gives and takes, reaping the soil with the bodies of the ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
Night;
darkens the world, honing in on those I was promised I could turn to,
reminding them I am no refuge, I am ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
I'm seventeen and
My hands shake at the thought of losing my balance,
Ironic seeing as I won't even be standing
But the thought of disappointing you
Throws me down without hesitation.
I'm seventeen.

****.
I'm seventeen.

Who are you to stare at me?
Who are you to give me such harsh words?
Who are you?
Why do you do these things to me?
Why do you compare me to others?
Why do you insist I am never enough to you?
When did I do something to deserve this?
When did I begin to eat too much?
When did I begin to wrong you?
Why am I getting wider?
Why haven't you stopped me from binging?
Why haven't I been purging?
Who is Mia?

Where has she been?

What is she known for?

When did she come?

Why did she choose me?

How have I been so blind?

Now there's an artist
But here's the funny twist
Her brush is a blade
And her canvas is her wrist

From time to time
You forget the world around you
All you feel is nothing
your mind is empty
Your heart is calm
Nothing matters
You feel hypnotised
The river you just created
That lets the red anxiety flow
That leaves you with a feeling
Of numbness
The river is getting deeper
You are getting calmer
You do it over and over
Even though you know
It will be even worse very very soon
You still have now
You still have this
For once you feel ok
And you wonder
Maybe it's ok
To create your own waterfall