Life is being ****** out of me.
I can feel it as my lungs become
too heavy for me to hold and
my heart gets slower and slower.
My mouth turns to a dry cave,
A desolate place which my stomach hates.
No warmth can coax my fingers
To curl around any little mug.
They’ve lost all hope of ever
being so cosy again as I keep
Walking down this endless street.
Though my steps are getting
Slower and slower and slower.
Every largening crack in my spine
Tingle when I lay on a hard surface.
I wonder why I do this to myself.
Then I remember and force a
smile so ****** convincing that I
unknowingly manipulate myself.
I breathe in as to stop the dizzy spell,
the light goes dimmed, i stumble.
"Are you okay?" They seem to ask.
I will be okay. I’m always okay.
But the seconds it takes to get back
on my feet are getting slower
and slower and slower.

I want to **** myself today.
Instead I cut.
I made it 42 days clean.
That's because I cut yesterday too.
But hey,
I'm still breathing.
Right?

Surrounded by people
yet nobody cares.
Voices thundering
but no one's there.

Do this, do that,
conform to our views.
Bow down, submit,
it's ok to be used.

Drink your liquor
try to run from the pain
Make it worse
and drown in the rain.

Ignite your bud,
mind light and floating.
Indulge in sweets,
ignore the bloating.

Slice your skin,
unveil the mask.
Enjoy relief
which never lasts.

i sit in the confessional, the lattice throwing shadows that in the corners of my eyes become demons.

inhale, hold, exhale.

Forgive me not, for it was not me who sinned. But God himself, who allowed the hands between my legs when my thighs were no more than centimeters apart, those who forced themselves to invade my space even as I cried and prayed for mercy. God who allowed their sweat to fall on my face, mixing with my tears. God who caught my breath in my throat until it was scratched raw inside my mouth as a bird in a cage.

It was God who sinned when this happened not once or twice, but so much that my body became a shell and my mind a mallet with which to break. It was God who stood by as I opened my veins and looked for an answer.

Forgive me not father, because you did not protect me, forgive me not, because it was you who did nothing.

Inhale, hold, exhale.

The lattice throws shadows across my lap and my legs have stopped trembling.

Forgive me not father, because you have pillaged me through them.

i carved your name into my thigh
because you asked me to bleed
and i would not

i carved your name into my thigh
because i wanted to bleed
but you did not

i carved your name into my thigh
and then i left you
or you left me
i dont know

i carved your name into my thigh
but it is gone now
and so are you

i am better for it
but i will never forget
how i carved your name
into my thigh

I popped one...
I still remember her
I popped two...
She still lingers on my mind
I inhaled three...
I look in the mirror and hate being me
I poured four...
My body still feels much sore
I cut a few strokes
cut the jokes
and my mind was at ease
Then she slept on and on
with her soul at peace

Look at yourself

Squeeze any fat you have

A pinch

A handful

How much is too much?

What really is fat or skinny?

Victoria's Secret "Love My Body" campaign shows seven svelte models while Dove's "Real Beauty campaign features an array of 'Real Women' with curves in all the right places 

Both campaigns exclude most body types and show major problems with society

One shows plus sized is okay is only okay if you're plus in the right places

The other proves skinny is king

These are the standards we set for little ones to abide by

With a small bust plus wasn't an option

So I turned skeletons into goddesses 

Prayed the would teach me how not to need

Worshiped hipbones over pizza

A tiny waist over lunch

Anorexia has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness

Yet todays media forms computers in the minds of children to count calories as thought food were merely numbers

I learned how to purge from a pro Ana website when I was nine

Stuck a toothbrush down my throat and forced up dinner

Turned to laxatives at 12

Learned ill was okay if skinny was the side effect

Today I look at myself

Squeeze any fat I have

A handful

A pinch

How much is too much

The devil is a boy
pretending to be a man,
who makes you feel
like you deserved
the unwanted advances.
And convinces you
that black and blue bruises
is the art upon your skin,
which he embellished on your thighs,
because you looked so
******* ****,
he couldn’t resist.

And now you
force a laugh and lie
and pretend
that each time
you see his face
you don’t cower away
in fear.
Silently wishing,
always praying
to the God that you don’t believe
loves you anymore.
Praying that this boy,
pretending to be a man
would burn in his flames.

But devils never die.

Even if I did that night.