The thing about glass shoes is that they break far too easily
In order to wear them, you have to glide like an angel
Sing like a delicate hummingbird
And weigh as much as one of their feathers
Wearing glass slippers takes a lot of practice.
If you press a little too hard, your feet are engulfed by glass shards
It's the fine line between beauty and self-harm.
Glass slippers are meant to be worn by princesses.
They symbolize all your fairy-tale dreams coming true
If only they didn't break whenever I set my foot in them.
I do my best to make myself petite for my glass slippers
Using the old pieces to carve out my cheekbones and make my love handles disappear
Somedays I wonder if I've crossed that line between beauty and harm
But I'll do anything it takes to get that Cinderella waistline.
You know what they say,
"A dream is a wish your heart makes,"
I have to do what my heart says, right?

So i stand in front of a boy i never gave up on
Til now, you're taking my strength when i need to stay strong
It's like watching a creation from a test tube; experiment
Only less of a man and more of a little princess!

I took punches to the face for you, prove my f!@#$%ng loyalty!
You just stood there, proof that in return you'd do f@#k all for me!
It's like when I needed you most you was standing, walking dead
Hopeless and far from helpful in your own battles, yet again!

For months I've tried dragging a dead weight out from his own grave
That with his own hands and borrowed strength he decided once he'd made
Yet how can you pull something that refuses to move
It's not that he's stuck for f@#k sake, he just doesn't want to!

Doesn't have a job, doesn't go to school
Instead lives in a van in his backyard and refuses to move
Or do anything as a matter of fact, just cry over his last love
You've all the time and i think I've heard enough!

Of hearing how she's your everything, wake up dude you're fifteen
I get you get feelings to but you're sounding like a ***** love machine!
All i hear nowadays is how you're so f@#$ing depressed
Suicidal like it's vital to take anger out on your own chest!

You could have been the best, beaten every test
You have a brain for Christ's sake, stop talking about Death
Like he's your best friend, that was me but now i gotta let go
Of someone i held out for, who cries for help but only cries for soap

Make a reality show out of it, a helpless little man
I had such hope where did it go i just don't f@#$ing UNDERSTAND!!

Ligaments are folly for the static movements
that I tender on the world around me.
I'm a puppet that has had its strings severed.

No longer will I stand before a crowd admiring
the swag of free motivation. Now I'm but a flawed
puppet with my useless severed strings lingering.

Once upon a time I was  a puppet and I pulled all
my own strings... But now I'm gathering
dust in my self  pity, and my strings are now cut.

But even though they are severed, and no longer
dance to my own tunes. I'm no weaker than before!
I'm stronger within myself, I may have fallen but got up.

"We are stronger than we think,
"We just have to pick ourselves up.
           *"For we are our own weight, that only we can pick up.

You and I
Used to be like two branches intertwined
Now we stand separate as two trees.

How can that be?
To be together, yet feel so lonely?

Two many crows sit in my leaves
My limbs ache
from holding so much weight.

The wind doesn't whisper
It's silent
Like the space in between
You and I.

The burden that breaks this back
is the weight of letting you down,
having lost your way,
having seen you drown.

You were the bright sky turned cloudy,
as I took shelter from your rain.
Your tears had filled oceans
and I cowered from your pain.

Now my heart hangs as heavy
as the world upon my shoulders.
Punishment fitting for the one
who stole, held, and broke hers.

so as of next week i will be starting my first year of college in a town too far away to come home for an evening and people keep telling me about the “freshman fifteen,” its inevitability, like i dont know how to live alone and the response to that is somehow gluttony. i dont think people realize how good i am at not eating. my digestive system still hasnt forgiven me for when i was sixteen and liked the taste of anorexia. no one ever talks about the fact that apparently part of recovery is running to the bathroom twenty minutes after every meal and having to stay there for twenty minutes after every meal because once you stop eating, your stomach stops holding anything. your intestines start making up for lost time. and it’s gross to say it but it’s something i live with and in reality the symptoms make me want to just stop eating again. there’s a reason i didn’t get the biggest meal plan. maybe i’ll start working out again, because that always helps make me forget that im missing dinner again, because thats what i did last time. i dont like the way people talk about the “freshman fifteen” because they dont know what i was like when i was sixteen. they dont know how good i am at not eating.

"23: July 24"
"24: October 5"
"25: February 19"
"26: December 14"
  
The words went right to the pit of my stomach.
All doubt was gone.
I'd graduate/be drafted in June.
By September
I'd be in Vietnam.
  
My high school gym teacher had been an Army sergeant.
He stepped on our stomachs as we did sit-ups,
"toughening us up".
I've had a problem with authority
(unsuited, temperamentally,
to obeying unconditionally).
I'd be a poor soldier in the best of wars.
  
But if a job required some independence/ingenuity --
a pilot or a spy, say --
and if the cause was right
(World War II, for instance),
I could fight as well as another guy.
  
I don't like fighting,
but I'm not so naive as to think it's never a necessity.
There's always someone who, given the chance,
will take our possessions and make us their slaves.
So who should decide
if a particular war is justified?
This seemed to be my own responsibility.
  
Vietnam? I decided it wasn't.
Weren't we protecting a democracy?
No. Thieu lacked popular support.
Wouldn't Thailand and India fall?
No. The domino theory was questionable at best.
Weren't our national interests at stake?
No, not really.
I'd decided I shouldn't fight;
They'd decided to make me fight.

The physical was set for March.
Unless I failed,
I'd go to Vietnam,
go to jail for seven years,
or go to Canada for the rest of my life.
  
In studying Army regulations,
I found a fascinating chart.
It showed for each particular height
the greatest and the smallest weight
the Army would accept.
I'd heard of people who'd gotten out
by injuring themselves intentionally.
Some exaggerated a minor back pain.
Others faked insanity.
Losing weight seemed nobler;
lying/mutilation, not required.
  
The low for me was 118;
lose twenty pounds and I'd be out.
(At 5'10", that's pretty thin.
Could I do it and not get sick?)
My parents thought for sure I'd die.
  
Help from doctors was out of the question;
on my own I studied nutrition.
Cut down on calories,
maintain needed nutrients
(protein, essential fats, vitamins, and minerals).
Once I found a working combination,
I stuck to it without exception.
Cottage cheese, wheat germ, and fish were staples.
Bored fat cells chose self-immolation.
My weight dropped to one hundred and twenty.

In cases where the weight was close
I'd heard the Army sometimes winked:
("Oh we'll fatten this guy up").
I decided to lose to one hundred and ten.
  
Contrary to my parents' fears --
though vigorous exercise made me dizzy --
I really wasn't sick at all.

The Army sent a special bus
to take us to the physical.
Once there, we stripped to underpants,
moved like cattle from each room to the next.
I weighed 110.
They classified me 1-Y
(examine again in a year;
if still unfit, reject).
Losing again would be inconvenient,
but free of worry since I knew that it worked.
  
I'd brought some food.
I drank and ate it ravenously.
  
So what did I feel on that bus heading home?
Triumph? Elation? No.
Relief, sadness, and guilt.
Relief because finally I was free of this mess.
Sadness and guilt because someone else
would be made to go and fight in my place.
It's true this person, on some level,
had chosen not to escape --
but maybe he just hadn't thought it through. . . .
  
Now for a bold statement from a slimy ex-draft-dodger --
I'm sure you'll think this hypocritical -- :
Each of us must be ready to serve.
Responsibility for protecting things we love
can not lie solely with the professional military.
(Future wars could overwhelm them.)
  
Service isn't always guns.
Service might be joining the Peace Corps
or electing leaders who effectively distinguish
false threats from real ones -- and pre-empt war.
  
Wars should be rare, ****** upon us.
No more propping up tottering dictators.
No more shoving "Democracy" down people's throats.
No more sacrificing 10,000 soldiers so we can pay a
      quarter less for gasoline.
  
Wars should be necessary and just;
everyone should serve.