#disordered
Ink soaked in despise and despair,
thoughts bewildered and perplexed.
Parched soul,
a distinctive flair.
Faint and feeble brightness,
an outstanding dazzled affair.
Stitched up hopes,
with an astounding glare.
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 8:54 AM UTC
Violin in my ribs
Guitar in my heart
Drums in my mind
Yet all out of sync
Guess I need a perfect conductor
But who will be brave enough
To tame such a disordered body?
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC
Curves melting away
Numbers dropping
An obsessive measurement of worth
One food at a time
Or
Consider mixing it all together
Counting bites
Counting grains, kernels, seeds
Counting times chewed
26 waist
32 hip
5 wrist
11 neck
7 forearm
30 ribcage
17.8 bmi
16.3 body fat
98 lbs
Obsessively memorizing
Remeasuring
Plugging in numbers
Worrying if you look sick
Collar bones too defined
Hip bones jutting out just too much
Getting scared
Binging
Purging
Feeling deliciously empty
Thinking clearly
Everything fuzzy at the edge
It ain't a ******* joke
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
The meaning of chaos is a ”Disordered State”
Topsy and Turvy and somewhat irate
If your life is in chaos, it's by your own choice
Why did you pick it, you do have a voice
To be in that state takes its toll, I am sure
To come out of your chaos, will take a detour
Go ahead and try it, you may be suprised
Life without chaos is what is advised
Brian Hill - # 236
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 9:10 AM UTC
it dimmed my light
it made me lie
it made me say things
i would've never said
it made me wish that i was dead
summing up everything, i'm barely alive
i'm nothing but a walking frame
i never have anything left to say
all my interests are consumed
by keeping track of my intake
keeping track of my weight
keeping track for my sanity's sake
but that's one more thing to keep me awake
and i don't know how much more of it i can take
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
time passes by
and i don't realize it
see
i must just dissociate each moment
they say it happens when there is something bad going on
it's a so called "escape"
each moment is bad
so i can believe that
because
i'm not so sick anymore and i'm envious of the sick girls
my therapist said i don't need a high level of care anymore
so i guess i've failed
****
****
****
**** i ******* wish i couldnt walk again
looking like an auschwitz survivor
and i'm jealous
of girls bruised knuckles and
caved in eyes
now i jiggle
i was once that way
can't i do it again?
again
again
again
again im in a position that my body makes me want to die
or look like i am atleast
how did i get this big?
come back, come back
i need that illness back or else i might not be able to go on
i need it.
come back.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
Am I going crazy?
Perhaps one should define the term crazy,
maybe it is these moods swings: always violent but never long.
Or my hysterical crying in the early morning though I never remember what for.
On the days it rains hardest in the black of midnight,
I rise from slumber like the undead to stare blankly at the water-streaked pane and wonder
"Why me?!
Why was I blessed to hold a mind this heavy?."
In the spirit of my family name I never talk about it,
about the insane thoughts that run like school children in summer between my ears.
My father once told me he would love to see a psychiatrist just to sort some things out but I have to wonder how much a man with a family history of hiding yourself behind intellect and avoidance tactics could mean it.
My grandmother still doesn't call to tell us she's sick,
just mentions it as an afterthought,
a hey-I-forgot-to even as her husband slowly forgets everything he thought he knew.
Maybe I was born with this shame in my blood,
or maybe that is where this sickness came from,
My ever present thoughts and their not so secret toll on my wellbeing.
But since we don't talk about it I have to wonder:
is this just me?
Am I going crazy?
Is this why all good poets write?
Is this why they all **** themselves?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
The demons are on replay today
Circling through my mind.
I’m trying to tell them they’re not telling the truth
Yet somehow, it’s hard to find
The words to say back to them
As they batter me inside
One glimpse at a mirror is all they need
To crush my soul and pride.
You’re fat, you’re ugly, you’re worthless
As though my appearance is the epitome
Of my future destiny
As though it matters how I look.
I try to be strong, to fight their throng,
of never ending bashes,
yet sometimes I am prone to crashes,
where tears fall from my lashes
and I feel as though I’ve been reduced to ashes.
But I must fight, I must continue on.
For an ending isn’t the solution.
No matter how much I want to curl up in a ball
And hide from all
I can’t be small, I must stand tall.
You’re not a burden, you’re a human,
With so much more to you than looks and appearance.
So fight the urge to restrict
This is the real Laura’s edict.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
we, all of us, all these
kids
who make lists
and count, count doorknobs
and bus stops and fenceposts and cars on the highway
and scars and broken bones and illnesses
we make lists and reasons and categorize
categorize, organize, memorize
we know, we KNOW how many steps it takes to get to the mailbox
the bus stop
the garage and the car
we count the steps to putting on shoes
1. pick up shoe 2. open 3. pull on 4. tie
we remember the things everyone tells us to stop worrying about
like we don't KNOW
that the weight of this big big world doesn't rest on us alone
and that turning the lock three times doesn't lock it tighter
that going right sock right shoe, left sock left shoe
isn't gonna make things better in the long run we KNOW
we know we've got everything categorized and memorized
and then people have the audacity to say our mental states
are disordered
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I don't need to list the reasons,
What I need is a reason not to.
You've heard me talk like this before.
And somehow my silence seems like a bandaid-
Like maybe if I just don't talk about it
Everything will get better.
Maybe if enough time passes,
It will all, eventually, heal.
But that is ********
I don't need your permission,
**** forgiveness.*
My intentions have their own agenda
But it's never hidden.
Quite the opposite- I'm plain sight.
Don't have to wait for night
To let the darkness take me.
I'm honest, open,
And honestly I'd rather be sleeping
In a closed casket; no one
Wants to see my blown off brain bits
And some teeth meshed with leftover tendonis threads
Dangling from my severed neck.
But those tooth shards are smiling-
The bandaid has been ripped off
The time has ran out,
Sand in my mouth.
Dirt where my eye sockets used to be.
This isn't me,
This whole "life" thing...
I don't need to list the reasons.
I never signed up for this ****
Where do I check out.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
One day
Those of us who found our way back
Survived
We'll look back on the days
When we were lost
And we'll wince at the realization
Of the time we wasted
Pushing away someone
Who could have been our future
And we will wince
At the days consumed
Trying to shrink
Into the disordered skeleton children
We became
Flashing fake smiles
And looking out at the world
With vacant eyes clouded by despair
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Society is a clay mold
Taking every newborn into its fold
Kissing each brow with insecurity, shame
Releasing it's victims, carbon-copies, all the same
Society is a line graph's slope
Plotting point ever upwards in hope
Shunning those who are different, who fight
Loving only those who are "normal", all outliers denied
Society is a disease, nipping at the soul
Filing and wearing down on the young and old
Breaking every innocent into a pessimistic, jaded mess
Rending, tearing, stomping, destroying whatever is left
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC