I'm not looking for love,
Not even one fanatic idea,
But somebody I could talk to,
About things most consider a trivia,

I want to celebrate small things,
Share the moon in the sky,
Find happiness in our old habits,
Silly ranting, overeating, being shy,

A place far away from this town,
Where the clouds are clear and white,
Weekends under the lights –in the city,
Laughing away the fuss everytime we fight,

Nights discussing the dark theories there have been,
And many more yet to come,
Cold feet –the sound of burning fire,
Face glowing with smiles until it goes numb

I seen this ****** photograph once, taken in lovely black and white
A beautiful figure framed by shadows,
A beautiful young dark-haired girl naked
kneeling on a stairway
With one hand draped across her *******
As if protecting herself from something, maybe even shielding her heart
Her face, it is turned away to one side
And buried in her other hand
As if she's suffering some great distress or sorrow,
Far from arousing in me ****** feelings, this photograph
It spoke to me of something else
Something quite different and much more significant
More than mere words could possibly say
It spoke to me...it spoke to me of my whole life.

Her body there, so youthful, beautiful without a blemish
Her lovely contours and curves smooth like the sand dunes of a desert
Her beautiful face made sad
Her petite delicate little shoulders and arms
Her wonderful *******, her lovely tummy/belly, the roundness of her hips
The bones of her knees jutting out from where she was kneeling
Her thighs and calves resting upon one another
Her ankles and little feet tucked in behind
Here was Youth in all its glorious splendor... and innocence
With all its wonderful promise,
Strangely, it reminded me of my own Youth and my own body once
Before age and the World had done their damage
This wonderful garment thrown over our eyes and our bones
And I remembered myself as a little child, running across the beach... across the strand
And I was talking to my legs, saying, "Come on legs! Faster! Faster!"
And I was hitting my hip with my hand as if it were a whip
And as if my legs were those of a horse galloping
Just like in the old Westerns we used watch (on TV)
Yes! There was a time once when I used to talk to my body, a private little world I had,
It was my closest, my most intimate friend
You'd do it when you were alone like it was the most natural thing in the world,
You needed a friend to talk to about this strange world you were in,
And then I remembered the little girl next door
They used put us together playing, us children, us being around the same age
She was such a sweet little thing, the way she used to laugh and smile all the time
Like the cutest little kitten
The joy in her eyes and that smile of hers
Where was it coming from... somewhere inside, somewhere within
And then I remembered, I too had it once, that same joy, that same smile
It had lived in me too once... that bliss.

                              2

That photograph, it struck me as being something almost holy
It reminded me straightaway, it reminded me of the Garden of Eden story
The beautiful body had been the Garden you see
And in the Garden there was no fear and no danger
Like a little kitten lolling about, rolling on its belly and stretching itself out
Without a worry or a care
Without a cloud on its horizon
A beautiful magical kingdom before the Mind ever existed.

But now looking again at the photograph and at her face made sad buried there in her hand
Now the photograph was telling me
Suddenly, all at once, there came a day and a shadow
Something from outside, it had entered her mind, some ugliness from the world
It had disturbed her for the first time
And this was a new sensation to her
And it had frightened her
"How could such a dark ugly thing exist", she was wondering,
'And how can I live now with this in my world,
Now that I've seen it, it will always be there",
And then another memory came back to me, That of myself as a little child lying in bed
Shaking my head from side to side, even bumping my head against the wall
There was something there in my head I didn't like, something I didn't want to hear or see, something disturbing
I didn't want it there, I wanted it to go away
I wanted it to stop,
But it wouldn't stop and it wouldn't go away
And you realised it'd always be there like some shadow hovering in the background.

                                3

Now dark clouds were beginning to gather over the Garden and the beautiful Body
Now the World was coming and the Tyranny, the Tyranny of the Mind was beginning
The Gates of the Garden, they were slowly starting to close
Yea, the fields of Arcadia were fading, the exotic fruits and feelings there were being taken away
Its lovely sweet river of ambrosia would now soon cease to flow.

Like the Snow Queen and her Icy Blizzard, like a cruel invading army
The Mind had awoken now like a sleeping dragon and the World, it was coming, coming now to feed
Starting to pour in like through a breached dam
The World with all its books and its lessons, its rules and examinations
The mental world forcefully asserting itself
With its bullying cajoling teachers and its many humiliations,
The Mind weighing down hard now upon the Body, leaning on it, squeezing it and straining it
Pulling it this way and that, hither and thither
All out of shape, all over the place
Rivers of outside influences flowing in now
You were like a tiny boat tossed upon stupendous waves
Always at the mercy of other people's words
Blown all over the place
Sometimes, sometimes I just couldn't stomach it, I couldn't digest it
Sometimes I could only just throw it all up.

                                   4

The Beautiful Body... Garden no longer, now just some hollow empty shell
The Mind alone was all that mattered now
All consuming and all devouring
The Body starting to buckle and to crumble
Underneath all that weight, the stress and the strain
Not knowing how to deal with it....lost and bewildered
Among the new feelings of emptiness and of pain
Overeating and undereating, unable to eat at all
Growing fat thinking that that could protect you from all the new fears in your brain.

                                5

The Body that beautiful Garden with its golden days
Were now long gone and forgotten
Thorns and briars had grown up in their stead
Just like some long lost fairytale Sleeping Beauty.
Made poor now and impoverished
I remembered... I had been a King once long ago back in my old Garden.

(The faint joys of the Mind y'know they were nothing in comparison
To what I'd known in that sweet Garden of old, that sweet Garden of mine).

Now when I look in the mirror I can hardly see myself anymore
But when I look at this photograph
I can see myself there.

Can you imagine
How life would really be
If birds were obese
And fell from their tree?

Sparrows staggering somehow
Around with bent beaks
Upturned to the sky
Awaiting helpful tweaks!

Alas, when the rain showers
Fall like you wouldn’t believe
You’d see Sparrows wearing snorkels
To help them better breathe!

And then an Albatross
Won’t be able to leave the ground
Due to overeating fish
And turning overly round.

Ducks, when thrown some bread
By children in the park
Would slowly, steadily sink
As surely as a dog does bark!

Swallows they would swallow
Many, too many flies
And end up heavily crashing
From our summer skies.

Then, all the newspapers
On the front page would read:
“We’re Fed up with Obese Birds
Please, Do NOT feed!”

I apoligize for not reading your posts. I have been battling my depression and have not been online .  I have written a poem about it (of course lol).  I hope you enjoy and I hope to be online tomorrow.

My Dark Tale (A Sestina)

It is a lovely time of day for tea
As I sit curled up to the song of rain
Memories arise of a deep dark pain
Storm clouds gather within my heart, darkly
Dimly, I am aware of rainbow’s hope
Wanting dreams infused with Rosemary and Thyme

Out of work, I suffer from too much time
Overeating and drinking too much tea
Depression worsens, stealing all my hope
And all my dreams shatter in the cold rain
Leaving me empty in the bitter dark
As I stare out of the broken windowpane

How I long to conquer my bitter pain
If only I would organize my time
I know then, I would rise above the dark
Instead, I get caught in cookies and tea
And sink deeper; chaos supremely reigns
I flounder once again, losing my hope

I am tired of losing precious hope
Letting despair and worthless bitter pain
To take control and determinedly reign
Structure! Will that allow me to use time
Positively? Cutting back on black tea
Getting needed sleep to fight back the dark

Rested, I can push back the hated dark
Strive to capture peace and beautiful hope
Learning once again to enjoy my tea
And not as a crutch that causes me pain
While I mourn the loss of wasted sweet time
Instead, I would see rainbows in the rain

I yearn to topple depression’s long reign,
To walk in the sun’s light, not the cold dark
Eager to greet the day and enjoy time
Pursue my dreams, infusing life with hope
Do away with doldrums and bitter pain
Relaxing and enjoying Earl Gray Tea

Envoi

To sum up, I yearn to enjoy my tea
Overcome my darkness and pain; to feel hope
While I take time to enjoy the sweet rain

Kelly Rose
© January 5, 2017

I scribble on
With a half lobotomy;
A radar seeking Hell by looking up
And another dictionary
From another time and place;
An alternate timeline
Reaching right and left
As well as fore and aft;
The beard of a ******
And naïveté too;
Undiscovered depths of emotional manipulation
Unseeing, unthinking,
A new old structural familiarity
To abduct and probe
The time-honored, vacuum-sealed
Ineptitude of ideology
Whose meat is sweet
But suits the skeletons of standardized educational theories
Like a pair of jeans at age eleven that you expect to grow into;
In hope of justifying
Overuse of monetary resource
For the sake of bonus states of mind;
Scouring the depths of discarded everything
With hooks catching on to all the similarly forgotten names
Who live in fear of obscurity
Clinging, not unlike insects
To their sixteenth minute of fame;
Finding in myself no way but out
To understand that which lives inside;
With disregard for any thread which weaves past me and takes no hold,
And loathing for the ones that do but unravel before the eyes;
Lightheaded, ending any sense of continuity
When, prostrate in the comfort of another tapestry
I stand abruptly, let my dreams be drained from me through tendrils
Like the passing of a temporal existence;
Drinking in the dust and glue of crowded bookshops
In fear of losing inspiration
To the insatiable jaws of my consumerist natural state;
Rummaging in a bargain bin
In search of someone to tell me, “Stop!"
With heads in clouds and bodies in ice trays,
Stealing lines of logic and lyric,
Throwing down and hacking into
Elemental bits which fit into my own vernacular
Sacrificing beauty for originality and vice versa;
Choosing idols idly with the tides
Of knowledge and of art
Rising and falling without fail
Never apparent and never blurred by motion;
Searching for a style like an odd-numbered jean size;
Finding greater inspiration in waves of unopened mysteries;
Following examples laid by unsuccessful fictions;
Learning ethics only from the prologues of ****** novels,
Unsuspecting victims snuffed in interesting and lurid ways;
Letting technological distraction detract from the projections of psychological complexity
Which I, from atop the high horse of my own pretensions
Pretended to embrace;
Committing massive acts of thievery, fraud, and infinite lethargy
For the sake of juvenile, illegitimate art forms;
Seeking other seekers who exist autonomously
For the sake of personal independent credibility;
Leading unsuspecting, overreaching, overeating, understanding, undemanding,
Too forgiving, not forgetting,
Victims of domestic warfare
To a loveless watery grave
For the sake of my own loneliness;
Patronizing every segregated buffet
With courage enough only for a small taste of everything;
With the flavors of the day swirling around
For me to shoot them down
And pin their carcasses to elementary school walls
And Mormon tool sheds
And nature centers
And all the forgotten places of summers past
In the hope of rediscovering
Some old buried treasure
Be it wondrous or worthless;
With the uneasy insincerity of a rodent who pretends to understand a city;
With adopted methods
And repeated thoughts
And ideas which came to me in waking dreams of my own retirement;
Sharing, for a captive audience,
The formidable giants which
Inform our common denominator
Searching through myself for only the most indecipherable
With the fear of being understood
And the fear of being ridiculed
And pretensions of some preternatural predetermination for greatness;
With acceptance of predisposition for obscurity,
The cost of the inundation of the new airwaves.
The series of tubes that feed us intravenously
With information, information, information,
Having killed God and left material validation in His wake;
It could be that new gods are born in the minds of the innovators,
Those wonderfully wealthy
Whose social structuralism
Was a beacon to us all;
In the darkness of an architectural anomaly
Where lights extinguish as my body lies dormant
Alone and abandoned
Only by my own subversion;
Confined ever to a convolution of passages
While above me all my peers still carry on;
Overstaying welcomes
And letting emotionality
Color conversation
A sicklier green,
A green of a tree only just sprouted,
A green of a new recruit,
A green of an inexperienced schoolboy
Faced with the daunting and timeless act
Of copulation;
Somehow taking in the sights and sounds and smells
Of advanced mathematics
Even occupied, as I am,
With explaining my actions
Most eloquently;
Devoting myself to another cause,
Another, another, another
Always relaxing my grip by losing focus;
Desperately hoping not to let my fellow travelers
Lose their innocence
While I reluctantly, dogmatically
Keep mine on a leash;
Always keenly aware
Of the universe of worlds
Beyond my control,
And even my understanding;
On the increasingly frequent
Intrusions of risk
Into my significant reality
And the iota of explainable truth which guides the motion of my body but most frequently my mind;
Questioning the meaning of all words
Without thought or coordination;
Considering another restful journey
To clear my mind of human language
And in its place acquire thoughts and emotions from the street;
Without foreseeable direction,
Malice aforethought
Or noticeable signs of critical reaction
Giving birth to litter
Forgetting articles
And floating my sense of time up the Ganges;
Taking only seconds to counter the possibility of
Accepting more responsibility for myself;
Complicating matters with an interesting or bitter goodbye.

Sometimes
We overeat
the best is
we know
we are overeating
an awareness
to apply the silence
when overeating
Now
You know to connect
the reason behind
may be
Loneliness
Depression
Debts
Envy or jealous
less income
if we do correct the
missing element
you obesity flies off..

The challenge of enjoying
tasty and nutritious
food and drink
is not to overeat.

Play
overdoing
overworking
overthinking
overeating
overdrinking
­
Pause
the leftovers
of me
always lying
over here
over there

Eject*
my seat
overseas

Game over.

i knew this girl
everyone was happy when she was born.
she had the most beautiful face

i knew this girl
she was three years old no care in the world
scarlet lips, and deep brown eyes
she had just gotten her glasses she was so proud

i knew this girl
she was six years old excited to grow up
pigtails, smarter than the other kids

i knew this girl
9 years old oldest in her grade
she already has acne the other kids pick on her but she could stand it

i knew this girl  
12 years old she thought she was fat
her acne was worse, she was coovered in blemishes.
she didn't want her glasses anymore.
she was an outcast, all the other kids just ignored her

i knew this girl
13 years old wounds all up her arms and legs
she has stopped eating her weight dropping to 100lbs

i knew this girl
14 years old she took off her glasses and put on darker clothes
she blends into the crowd
her arms and legs are covered with scars.
her weight is down to 75 lbs

i know this girl
15 years old.
fighting to recover, having relapses all the time
drinking, ******* around, fasting, then overeating.
her weight is back up to 94 but why should she keep it there?

i might get to know this girl
20 years old living a happy life
scars on her arms, but they're all faded by now.
her hands shake when she eats.
But this is only if she fights to get better.
if not she will never live to see this age.

You’d think by now
I’d overcome
My undoing
Reclusive
Obtuse
Of no use
Just consuming
Indulgently,
Carelessly,
Selfishly
Sating
My lust
For the never enough
Stuff I’m craving
But they could all watch me
To no end devour
Avert their gaze
Flee from my gaping jaws
Cower
Before my voracious
Most wasteful
Disdain
In its hungry indifference
Treats them
All the same

Are bad-habits
actions we do on impulse
without carefully thinking
whether we should do these actions?
Do bad-habits
lead us away from joy and happiness?
Towards unjoy and unhappiness?
Like overeating makes us fat and diabetic?
Liking smoking cigarettes gives us lung cancer?
Like alcoholism wrecks our life?

Should we introspect
to become self-aware of our bad-habits?
Evaluate our bad-habits?
And reform our mind
to expunge bad-habits from our mind?

I have a very limited diet.
I survive off sweet and nutritious thoughts.
The compliments that taste like candy.
I devour them whole.

Put a little icing on me.
I could use a personality.
What do you want me to be?
Something sour? Or something sweet?

Cut me open, limb by limb.
Tell me good things.
Eat me and tell me how good I taste.
I crave the validation.

The bad thoughts have my stomach tied in knots.
I puke them out until I'm hungry again.
I could use some sweet things.
So all your thoughts get shoved down my throat.

Order anything you'd like.
I'll be whatever you want.
I'll make sure to consume perfection.
You are what you eat after all.

Am I good yet?
Am I too much, too little?
Too sweet, too savoury?
I will take in your thoughts and make you happy.

I'm filling up on too many thoughts.
But I'm starving.
I'm overeating all the nice things you say.
My insides are an overflowing shipwreck.

What flavour is my personality?
Should I just scrape it off?
Everyone will like me more without it.
Everyone will like me more without it.

Devour me whole, tell me I'm pretty.
Take a bite of me.
Call me the perfect identity.
Do you enjoy me?

I purge your thoughts and change my flavour.
Why aren't you happy?
My stomach is empty.
I've forgotten who I used to be.

When I was younger my best friend's sister asked me why my thighs were so much bigger than hers and without missing a beat I scrunched my eyebrows and said, "because my legs are so much stronger."
Since then my self-image is every teenage girl's sob story of not enough this or that, too much one way, too much in general
(i **** in my stomach when you put your arm around my waist)
and I've been trying to tell myself it's strength that matters,
but sometimes jutting bones seem like they'd hold up a little more than the flab of my stomach, like they'd put up a better fight against the sharp looks I'd give myself in the ******* mirror,
and maybe that's why I went from cutting my fleshy thighs to cutting my hip bones because **** my hip bones for being the only bones that weren't covered in fat.
I used to tell myself it'd be easy to skip every meal in exchange for 2 almonds and occasionally a piece of deli-cut turkey, I used to try for days to cut down on acceptable portions, and some days I'd win and I'd eat nothing and sometimes I'd win more and not think about it.
I used to try so hard to wrap my fingers around my ribs or to get my friends to stop saying my *** looked huge ("in a good way") but I was taught when young that overeating was okay because I'd sit at my plate until I swallowed everything that was given to me. I'd sit in the dark on nights I couldn't chew my chicken fast enough, since day 1 I've been a bad eater. I'd get yelled at for being full and now I'm always full but still eating and bones still seem stronger than my jiggly thighs and no, i can't wrap my fingers around my ribs, but if i **** in enough, i can see the outline

Micah The Mouse was a rat;
At least that’s how he behaved.
If he didn’t get his way every time
He’d holler and he’d rant and rave.
He got to be such a big mouse
That his head swelled up too.
He became so hugely obnoxious
Other mice didn’t know what to do.

They held a spontaneous election.
They needed to elect a top mouse.
Micah bribed the weaker leaders
So, Micah got the run of the house.
He kept up his pattern of bribery
And threatening those in his way.
Without anything like scruples
He’s still on the throne to this day

Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.

In Micah got horrendously fat
By overeating just a tiny smidge.
He got to be so much like a big rat
He grew too heavy to cross the bridge.
So he roared and ranted and raved.
And blamed everybody around him.
That he was the cause of his problems
Seemed to completely astound him.

The wonder in all of this sad story
Is why the other mice could not see
That Micah was only in it for himself
And not for members of the citizenry.
Micah got to eat while others starved.
He got what he wanted, moved on
Yet somehow those that elected him
Never quite seemed to catch on.

Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.

(Image from www.sharktacos.com)

perhaps,
the most abuse i have experienced
was not when my ex boyfriend
controlled, threatened, or lied to me
but perhaps
it's the relationship
between two people
i call mind and body

you see,
mind and body are in a relationship
but mind is insecure and jealous
but body loves mind so much
they put up with it,
mind has forced body
to pick at wounds
and run blades
over their fair skin,
mind has told body
not to eat so much
so body began overeating,
but then mind forced them
to shove a toothbrush
at the back of their throat
to bring it back up,
mind has made body
overdose on laxatives
to the point
of almost no return,
but it's not too late
for body to heal

in fact,
it is finally time
for mind to realize the pain
they have caused body,
it is time for mind
to apologize
and change their ways,
and it is time
for mind to accept
body as they are
because all body ever wanted
was the acceptance
and the love of mind

and perhaps,
mind has finally come to peace
within themself
to help reverse the damage
they have caused to body
because all along
body cared so deeply
about mind
that they never gave in
to the signals that maybe
it was time to end things
for the both of them

but you don't have to worry
about that happening,
mind and body are working
on their relationship now
so that time
will never come
for either of them

Just another hiccup I can’t make this **** up trying to put into word what is lost and not heard but should I express or just strive to impress all of the rest add more ******* to feed to the herd? Open your eyes and sit up don’t roll over to a dream instead make it reality, but how can we? Not through repetition of normalcy this illusion of humanity cast in confusion always using the people you and me. What’s the use in caring or giving when you get told you’ll be forgiven though they won’t, they want justice but refuse to even fully trust us. How can I keep fuel in my tank while the promiseland is just another paper pass it back and forth overhand until you finally land back in another box day by day wondering what will be on your dinner plate. Constantly voluntarily refusing to be fully using your energy. And yet you get tossed another fish after bending over doing flips at someone else’s pleasure just to add another penny to his treasure. Just reading sign after sign pointing away from the curtain towards the wizard another fire **** ****** blizzard. The backwards prince of thieves, robbing hood, is celebrating this, the very day in which, he saw the death of his father King Liberty, now he’s ruling so why should we even bother to keep running his maze when we know it’s a circular ****** consumer treadmill looks still can will do **** the esteem of darling little Josephine. **** and *** craps fast cash the American dream tall coffee milk or cream? On to the next one the next day the next month just repeating and constantly overeating not exercising my body or freedom. Should I keep going even knowing their stunting my growing always under weight of image seriously what the **** is this? Anorexic or overweight? If you’re right I’m wrong? You win I lose? Why don’t we just choose what we want instead of being shoved from behind and pushed into the spotlight of somebody else’s show? that’s not right? At the end of the day we miss the bus home to have time to think about calling that shrink then your eyes catch a rack for hire and you buy her she’s back…darling little Josephine. Dark room silenced tears under covers thrashing, mind on nothing else but lasting one more ****** before she walks away with my wallet and wife house and kids next stop liquor store popping lids feeling numb just waiting wishing sleep could come. Spin cycle keeps on churning. Loudly and quietly yearning for that promise from so long ago did they always know it’d come to this? Washers done almost out of change and time to rearrange the furniture in the living room that I really don’t even use. Shuffle to the kitchen to open the empty fridge then sit there and stare at it. 12 o clock on a Tuesday time for the doctor’s order another pill to pop you really can’t afford. Clothes out the dryer wrinkled like my skin and faded like the man within. And now for the part I can never write because I just can’t end it right because its all gone wrong.

Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch

It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease

and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.

It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,

it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. ******
are not so **** particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!

A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may

I have my hit of calcium today?

Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating

Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch

It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease

and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.

It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,

it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. ******
are not so **** particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!

A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may

I have my hit of calcium today?

Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating

Now watermelons are a wonderful treat
They're the very best food that I like to eat.
I wonder why we save them for special days
As for watermelons, I would gladly pay.

I'd pay whatever the cost might be
Just to savor the flavor of that delightful treat
Just thinking of them gives me shivers to my toes
There's nothing else that can even come close.

Their sweet juicy flavor just melts in my mouth
On a hot summer day, I just want to shout
As I feel the juice trickle down my dry throat
It's the very best feeling a food can evoke.

Watermelons, watermelons I'll praise you forever
You're the one dish I'll pass up, not ever, no never
When I'm thirsty and feeling ready for a drink
It's only of watermelons that I start to think.

It might be an icy cold winter day outside
But that doesn't stop me from wishing inside
Of ripe, red, tender watermelon flesh
Even though I know I must wait, I guess.

Wait until summer comes round once more
With its hot hazy days and humidity's high score
To see watermelons piled up to the sky
All ready and waiting for me to buy.

Now I'll tell you a funny story that happened to me
I was only twelve or so at the time, you see
Visiting a lady friend my parents had made
She  had two children about my same age.

She took us all down the freeway a ways
Til we got to a farmhouse with garden and hay
Beside was a river, fast-flowing and cold
The day was so hot we all made a bold

Run for the water to cool ourselves down
We had great fun splashing around like clowns
We jumped and screamed 'til so tired were we
We fell on the grass to rest and to breathe.

And then my eyes saw a rare surprise
The farmer began piling watermelons high
Watermelons, watermelons come one and all
It was a great party, as I readily recall.

We ate and ate as much as our tummies
Could hold of those watermelons, so yummy
We ate till our stomachs started to pop
It seemed that of eating, we just couldn't stop.

It was time to go home down the freeway so far
So we all hopped in my friend's beautiful car
But after just a few minutes of traveling along
Every one of us children sang a brand new song.

The song was quite funny, but no one was impressed
All we could think of was giving our bladders a rest
Bathroom, bathroom we all in chorus sang
We sounded like the little rascals gang.

But on the freeway, no exits were found
No ramps to see if a bathroom's around
What in this world could one conceive
To find some relief for the children that grieved.

Well, to make a very long story short
We found a bathroom but learned not to resort
To overeating watermelon when far from home
Too much watermelon makes your bladder groan!

Do we need to forbear (abstain)
from doing particular activities
to optimise our joy and happiness?
For example:
Do we need to forbear
from overeating
to prevent obesity and diabetes
and optimise our health, joy and happiness?
Do we need to forbear
from overindulging in alcohol
to prevent brain-damage and liver-damage
and optimise our health, joy and happiness?

What other activities
should we forbear from
to optimise our joy and happiness?

i am a collector
i collect tears and panic attacks
scratched skin and nervous twitches

Over the years i've accumulated much
i collect desperate whispers to nothing in the dark
choked sighs, and raw swallows

i've collected rare winter princes and indian summers
then bittersweet kisses and hollow darkened loneliness
i collect i miss you's they'll never hear
and haunting memories that **** your breath away like a deep gust of wind

i have a gallery filled with years of depression
i collect plaguing relentless thoughts of self depreciation
should've, would've, cant's.
i've got bags and bags full of fears and failure.

There were those times i thought i found promises,
but only turned out accumulating more lies.
i've got a surplus of hurt, and pain
i've collected those times of overeating, under-eating, self harm, self medication.

At night especially, the walls come alive,
Shall i show you my collection?

It's a place where no one knows
A place where I miss my parents
And pretend that it doesn't **** me not to have them around
And wish my soul could rest where they are now
A search for who iam
Lost and confused
Blinded on where should I go now
Pushing away from everyone
Hating to be surrounded
And told what to do
Depressed and self pity has a place in my darkness
Joy in my sleep
Because no one can bother me
nor stress me out
Though happy does not exist in this darkness
Overeating and talking down to myself before anyone could put me down
A INSECURE CHILD TRYING TO GROW UP AND ACT HER AGE
Too old to be playing around.
BUT I Hide myself in my shame
Try hard not to lie to those who love me
Guess I get Ashamed of the truth I get myself in
No one would approve so my negative thoughts tell me now

Dear 2020,

     Although I am fully aware that there is a moderate chance of you not… existing… in the time to which I am writing, I still like writing to you. It… gives me hope, in a way. I like to think that you are there, looking back at me and knowing everything will be okay. Or, watching from above because you know what happens next.
     In these letters, I may sound as if I am not expressing much emotion as I write to you, but this is not the case. I am experiencing a bittersweet sensation currently. The reason I cannot properly convey is that I am simply not that good at writing. I take many sad pauses as I write to you, but do not know how to express these with my words. I apologize.
      I have not been writing or drawing lately. My writing never really goes where I want it to, and I simply do not possess the stamina, hope, and courage to try to draw. Instead, I have been loading myself up with lots of other academic work like reading advanced books, reading long books I may not ever finish, and setting extreme goals for myself like being happy and completing huge projects. With these, I am usually very tired and don’t pay as much attention to science and math as I perhaps should.
     My health is poor; I have been overeating without any willpower to stop myself, not sleeping very much, and tennis was a complete bust which left me flabby. I do not keep up my hygiene as well as I should. (I am pushing myself so hard, yet look at all the things about myself that I must improve!)
      I often need breaks from life, and though I take one day off school each week for doctor’s appointments, I am still weary. I find that my fatigue and lethargy do not come from lack of sleep or stress as much as just being tired of this dull, repetitive life that I have been trying so hard to make interesting. I find myself often wishing to take a break to a third place, a void where I float alone in the darkness, without bothering or being bothered. That place sounds so nice. But I shouldn’t say things like that. I probably sound like I want to die. Which I guess is true.
      For nostalgic reasons, I suggest you listen to Francis Forever and Sober Up. These are two songs I currently like. But perhaps you do not want to become flooded with memories from this time. If so, I think I understand.
     The main point of why I started this letter to you was to talk about Floor Day (this is a nickname I gave it since I forgot the exact date of when it happened. I know Floor Day took place this week, but I have forgotten whether it was Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday). Floor day was the time when I lay on the floor for an hour, and then later Mom didn’t believe me (this is not an in-depth summary). I suppose I will tell you more in the next paragraph since it seems like a different idea than this.
      I had been getting ready for bed, when I had selected and watched a fanart speedpaint of Doki Doki Literature Club (I believe it was called D o n ‘ t f o r g e t u s). They had drawn the girls in their weakest moments: Sayori grasping at a noose around her neck, Natsuki with bruises and a black eye, a broken Monika, and Yuri. I am sure that all of them hit me in a different way, each reminding me of something terrible, but I know that Yuri and Sayori did the most damage to me then. I had always felt like I had related to Sayori, having hidden my depression for a long time and all, and had even looked for a place to hang a noose in my room once. Yet, somehow it was Yuri that really shook me the most.
     She was… Covering her eyes… crying blood like in the game… But it was her arms… Her arms looked so fresh. Not as in they were still actively bleeding, but so, so recent had been the wounds inflicted upon them… I was really shaken up… I kept imagining… remembering… how my own shoulder, my own wrist had looked like that… I couldn’t get this picture in my head or my wrist, my shoulder looking like her arms.
     It was really overwhelming… So I decided to lay down. I hadn’t even thought of making it all the way to my bed, I just simply laid right there on the floor of my bathroom, my face there on my new bathroom rug, my mouth open, gasping for air as I breathed in and moan/mutter/shout/screaming as I breathed out. I felt so heavy. It was like the entire weight of the world at that moment was weighing me down. I couldn't get up, I thought.
     So I just lay there. I knew if I kept screaming softly like this, drooling on my rug, wailing to myself, then I would get all the feelings out without having to hurt anyone. But I still felt heavy. And I knew it was getting late. I have wanted my Mom to come in my room, see me there silent on the floor, and gasp and help me. But I have wanted to just lay there for infinity, drifting slowly into that third space I always dream about.
     Eventually, I texted my Mom to come here to me, thinking that she would be both surprised and beside herself with worry, helping to nurse me back. But she didn’t. She thought it was weird and stupid that I would be on the floor without being able to get up by myself, and didn’t believe that I could’ve been laying there for the whole hour. I think this kind of broke me down a little bit, so I started crying. I guess I also thought that this might gain some sympathy. ( I really am the **** of the Earth, aren’t I?) Anyways, I just told her repeatedly that I was really, really tired, and then went to bed (where I cried for another half hour or so). The next night I was really stressed about her taking away my phone for the night (I wouldn’t be able to talk to Claira, even if I was dying or something). I tried to explain to her that me talking to Claira was both rare and vital, but she didn’t seem to understand. She doesn’t want me to talk to her about that, I don’t think. She said to talk to her instead (which of course I’m going to do when she totally understood what was going on and was super worried the night previous).
     I used to tell myself that even if Connor didn’t think of me the way I thought of him, or didn’t think me very important, then I was still living for my mom. But, not even my mom understands me now. So I guess I better hope I’m important to Connor. Because I’ve always wondered: I’ve always thought that everything would work out, you would be happy, things would be good, as long as you have love. But now I am wondering what is my life, without love? I am always that one that loves someone else deeply. I am the person people only have idle crushes on when they don’t know who I really am. No one really loves me in the deep, bonding way. The real way, No one. So what am I living for?
     I guess you could say I am living for you. As in, I’m living so that I can become you, future me. Actually, I don’t know. All this thinking has made me want to lie down on the bathroom floor for a while and relax. It's kind of my safe space, I guess. I can let my feelings out there.
     I guess you know you’re broken when they have to give you drugs, and the drugs don’t even work. And here’s the real answer, to all of you who’ve asked: I’m vegetarian because it’s kind of like saving a life every time I deny meat. I know that no one, especially me, could save my life, so I want to save theirs. That sounds really stupid, doesn’t it? But whenever someone asks why, I always think, “Because I know I won’t be able to save my life.” I guess that's dumb. But so am I, so…

Sayonara,
                  Hollu-chaaan

P.S.: spoiler alert: I made it to bed this time.

I've lost for my passions,
the hunger once felt,
I'm no longer hungry
for i'm overeating
at an attempt to fill the parts
of my soul that i've had to ration,
for i'm tired.

its only 6:47am
but i've been up since 2 something
i was thinking about who i am
i guess im doing well.

i went to sleep at like midnight
after late-night overeating at a Shari's on a thursday.
two hours was it, try as i might.

i was feeling a little sick of myself, honestly.
kind of sick of yourself where you just think,
"in the end, what's there in store for me?"
and come up with few answers.

it was so weird, waking up to complete darkness,
motionless for hours in pitch night, before the day starts.
alright, this wasn't anything new, but regardless,
it still made me think.

i don't quite know where i'm headed,
yes, im waiting for the sun, but what then?
can i just go back to bed?
it feels like i just spent it all on a daydream,
doing nothing, but waiting, waiting, waiting, to fall asleep,
just to dream in the dark instead.

if i dont think, or move for a bit, i can feel myself drifting,
but it feels kind of comforting,
despite deep craters beneath by my eyes, twitching,
i know i'll go back to sleep sometime.

step one.)
think. think of everything that people must hate about you.

step two.)
let it consume you until you forget to breathe

step three.)
drop microscopic hints to people that you're not okay

step four.)
breakdown when they don't get it

step five.)
make excuses for them

step six.)
fear that they do get it, but you just bother them so much that they don't care

step seven.)
stop talking

step eight.)
start overeating, or eating nothing (with practice, you may be able to do a combination of both)

step nine.)
watch tv until you fall asleep on the couch every night

step ten.)
don't shower

step eleven.)
go numb

step twelve.)
receive a notification on your phone that sends you spiraling into self loathing and wondering why the hell you did this in the first place because it doesn't make it better. it doesn't. it doesn't

step thirteen.)
feel selfish for even thinking about bothering anyone again just to satisfy your own stupid craving for attention

step fourteen.)
finally reach out

step fifteen.)
repeat steps one through fourteen. again and again and again.

step sixteen.)
die

lying
sneaking
starting fights
hiding bruises
crying silently
oversleeping
overeating
starving myself
hurting myself
hurting the people i love

"Stand Up"




the body reverberations of a use to be spirit
man or woman who know which is first or previous
to the echo standing on the corner in blue suede sneakers
the light turns green society continues on its merry way
continues overpowering the individual because the individual
is an indefensible myth otherwise it would stand alone
which it can't the universe is to cold without the sun
which is life bearer free and happy god creative force
artist progenitor of the world in the beginning we always say
what comes out in hindsight is so clear because it is the only
real reality that we can see as we walk backwards into the future
we describe the scenery already in the past of our experience
but its such a feel so good answer that comforts we think its
the future and go back to the comedy/***** of errors wondering
why we get such a bad taste in out mouths again and again we are
amazed at the rules of life like don't punch a tiger in the face
but at least two times every day someone does it just to see
what will happen less expensive than a football game and more
exhilarating that's what most of the pain is about ninety percent
of the time anyway cheap forms of entertainment the other ten
percent well who knows maybe if we stop the unneeded big part
we will be able to do something with the little part that bites
but i don't know might as well ask someone to stop overeating
makes no sense to stop unless you want to so live and let live
and learn and learn over and over again and again each person
at a time sentient slates need to be written on and why should it end
that is how human beings are that is the wheel itself give up the
process and your eyeballs fall out the heart stops beating crap
backs up and we explode out the emergency exit and something
else stands up and starts walking

I’ll have every female ****** up with just my smile of my teeth
Till I’m eating you out with all of my welfare smile that I scored from EBT
I’ll have every female ****** up till enwombed married, then give all of you wrinkles
Like just sellin all my cd covers like we’re to marry at kinkos
I’ll have every female see that I’ve made it at battle heights
Till I’m searching through all of your phones for more women like I owned every satellite
I’ll have you overeating food like my soul was in marriage desperation
Have you thinkin wedding like every pound of my *** in *******
I’ll have every female ****** up collecting poetry like Irish things
To have you scared while I’m swinging my fist at your belly to all of you when pregnant when I’m smelling like Irish spring

I've had my fill of turkey,
perhaps a bit too much;
too much pumpkin pie,
sweet potatoes in my clutch.
And now, the stomach pays,
for the act of overeating;
if manners were the norm,
I'm afraid that I'd be cheating.
Why do we over do the things,
things we love and cherish?
and when the sleep does come,
it's often quite nightmarish.
Food will do that to you,
your dreams become bizzare;
the leftovers you take home,
you don't leave them in the car.
Another slice of pie won't hurt,
it slides right down, like jelly;
and later when, your aching,
it leads back to the belly.
Oh,  Thanksgiving is a beast,
with too much food and laughter;
for we neglect to overlook,
what comes to us soon after.

can help us feel full    
helps prevent overeating                        
heart healthy oatmeal

I know this is the problem.. i am eating—kept on eating. I am overeating. My mind said stop but it feels like something is controlling me to keep feeding myself. Why do I always do this when i am longing?

I am procrastinating.. I can’t stop. I feel lazier more than usual. That’s what i feel. My mind said i need to fight it but i am too tired.

Do you think my mind is tricking me into thinking my mind wants to do it but the truth is, it really is the one controlling me not to fight it and I should be listening to my inner self and not the mind so that i will be able to control over my mind?