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Nick Moser Apr 2016
The world is only as big as it reaches.
And yes, my children, it reaches pretty far.
It's filled with millions and millions of faces just wishing to attain fame.
They want more and more of it and they need it now.
But then there are those who don't know their purpose.
They feel like they can't fit in in this far reaching world.
They are the sould dressed in black, not because they are sad.
But because they are absent.
They feel like day after day after **** day they are going down like the Titanic.
But at least the Titanic drew money.
These souls, they are left to suffer under shadows of vultures.
They don't own a mirror because they don't want to look at themselves in it anyway.
Because they're afraid if they do, they'll see what they look like.
They'll see what people see.
The disgust, the patheticness, the nerd, the goth, the dork, the ****,
The in pain.
The insane.
The mental game.
They are all taking their tolls.
But where are these people to go?
How are they to know?
How were they to know that a disorder known as bipolar would result in bringing a blade to their wrists or a noose to their throats?
Their screams can't be heard because they're being cut off by the noose.
They try so hard to escape from this far reaching world.
But they can never escape this lie we're living in.
They scratch and claw at the door like a cat wanting milk.
Because that cat had a bad day at cat school and he just wants to come back to his cat home and drink his cat milk.
And then cry himself to sleep.
And as the cat sleeps he'll have his cat dreams.
He'll dream of one day becoming top cat,  sly cat, papa cat, and even the cat's pajamas.
He'll dream of one day when he can stroll down to the corner trashcan without being harassed by the big dog names Spike from down the street.
He'll dream of mice and how things aren't nice and about his dinner, rice.
But then his dreams turn into nightmares.
Like a 50 year old losing his hair.
Or like your spouse declaring they just don't care.
They've given up.
But suddenly you awaken hearing your cat crying in the night.
And you run to him and pick him up, assuring him that he is not alone.
And it is then that you catch yourself in the hallway mirror.
You see who you are for the first time.
You see yourself, and also a dark cloud.
It's that dark cloud of denial hanging over your head.
But you also see your cat in your arms.
And you are suddenly reminded that you are not alone in this far reaching world.
This far reaching world would be alone without you.
So my children, my black wearing souls.
Pour yourself some milk and cry yourself to sleep.
But when you awaken, remember your dreams.
Put them in a file and label it "Hope."

And when you feel that you are alone at the end of this far reaching world, remember,

You're the cat's pajamas.
High Chiropractic Bills
Mollie Grant Mar 2016
After a hurricane,
the air is different
and so reverberates
the sea. After a hurricane,
the water is dense.
I lay floating—
carried by salt—
thinking about weight
and the lack thereof.

After the hurricane,
nothing is right.
The weight of my body
on the waves
does not compare
to the weight
on my chest
in your
absence.
(v.): the act of floating with ease on the surface of the ocean after a hurricane has passed
Leigh Jan 2015
What will it be like?
What will you be like
When all of you at once rests?
Will it be a relief?
Will it be sudden or gradual and will you know?
Will you know that breath for the one to bring you into harmony with the Vibrating earth?
The one that will become the breeze and take you with it.
Will it be peaceful?
Or will it make you shudder and your knuckles turn white?
Will that breath burn
And will you try to hold it?
Or will you embrace the value of what you've done?
The people you've loved and the warmth you've given.
Will you wish for one more?
Or will you offer it all willingly?
Out of contentment or resentment?
Will you think of yourself?
Or of someone you'd give your breath to?
Will it feel like falling?
Will it stab at every nerve in your body and will you let it show?
Will it be easy?
Scary?
Clear?
Will it be how you lived?
What will it be like?
What will you be like?
Just a thinking day.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
Here at the gates of hell again looking down
I don't want to ever be found
I'm so lost and alone
My friend their true feelings they've shown
They got to much of their own to bear
And they just want me out of their hair
I totally understand their view
So I silently take their cue
But I'm so sad I don't know what to do
There's a weight on my chest and I can't breath
And every pour in my body just grives
The agony in my heart seems so unbearable
I'd just go to sleep if I was able
But insteed I'll just lay here staring at the ceiling
Wish I wasn't alone with every fibre of my being
Alaska Feb 2016
She loved
him more
than he
could ever
love her.
She knew
she had
to let go,
so he
could
finally be
happy with
the one he
deeply and
truly loved.
To lift
the burden
that she
was, off
his shoulders.
Christina Cox Feb 2016
I feel the weight on my shoulders.
So I hide under the table.
Let the wood take the crushing world.
And allow me time to sleep.
Lie down on the shaggy floor.
While the makeshift roof is cracking.
Melt into the floor for once.
Becoming something new.
No longer am I human
But a part of something bigger.
My body has disappeared
From the harmful world.
There is no more crushing
The world cannot find me anymore.
Maple Mathers Feb 2016

Far away
I’ll go to hide
The proof may be rampant
But the evidence, lies

I’ll leave no hint
Say no goodbyes
To search for my body
Would not be wise

The grotesque state
I may be in
Would do no justice
For your skin

I’ll disappear
In reference to
This ****** up state
Comprised by you

So only you
Will realize this
Is a demise
You will not miss

And when I’m gone
You’ll grow to know
I went unnoticed
Head to toe.

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)


"IF THE PAPER WASN’T LIMITED I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN YOU UNTIL MY HANDS BLED."
- M. C. B.
Taylor O'Hara Feb 2016
I lumber sluggishly,
dragging the weight of my body.
Every pound is tethered to me,
I can’t escape the heaviness.

I am stuffed into clothes,
encased in figure-hugging fabric
that looks better on the hanger
than my rounded, fleshy torso.

The scale is an unlucky lottery ticket
displaying a number
that I will carry around
shamefully like a scarlet letter.

I count calories like beads on a rosary,
making sure I shrink to conformity
critical of every extra curve
because to love my size is a societal sin.

Airbrushed beauty queens
and slender starlets
wear their size 0 like a badge of honor
in the battlefront of glossy magazine covers.

I’m crushed with the weight of the world I inhabit
a place that teaches girls to be self-conscious
of each pound that sticks to their body
instead of teaching them to be confident in their own skin.

I’m tired of micromanaging each nutrient that touches my lips,
to achieve a slender frame that resists my big-***** body
self love is not a one-size-fits-all
and I will radically adore every ounce that is tethered to me.
-Taylor D. O'Hara
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