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Skyla Dec 2018
If you could travel back in time
And meet yourself as a little child
What would you tell yourself?

If I could travel back in time
And meet myself as a little child
I would tell her, that she’s perfect just the way she is. That she’s fine.  She’s so fine, that she doesn’t need to be anything else.  Her small, growing body does NOT deserve to go through years of starvation and self-induced vomiting like it did.  She didn’t need to stick her fingers down her throat to look like a runway model, because she’s just fine.  

That little girl, laughing with big, doe eyes
And dewy lips coated in sugar
******* on lollipops and eating too many cookies with her friends, didn’t deserve this.  If only she knew that her happiness would be very short-lasting.  If she knew, she would’ve savoured those moments very dearly; but instead, she went on giggling in the sunshine, unaware that she will be lying on her death bed a few years later.

I would hug her, and hold her little 4’8 frame, and tell her that she needs to grow strong.  If you never eat, you never grow.  She needs to make sure her bones are iron-strong and her mind is sharp and fierce, and if she wants to chase her dreams, she can, and she can chase her dreams and achieve many things without needing to starve herself.  

Instead, she believed that skipping meals meant that she could conquer anything.  The only thing she would conquer is a near-death experience from malnutrition, and an almost trip to the morgue.  

Little girl with bright and peachy eyes,
Now that you don’t have to perfect, you can be good.
Lizzy Jul 2014
This pink mass of mist
it glows when we touch
my waking has surrendered
it belongs to you
but the boulder
this crippling weight still sits

misty fog can't fly
can't float
never could
that rocky weight
it finally caught a cloud
and pinned it down

i didn't mean to show you
i never wanted you to see this
this amazingly heavy burden I carry
please don't let it catch your cloud

maybe I too often feel like a burden
only because I have lived as one
and this fear of being what I am
it adds ounces every day

maybe that's what I've been trying to get rid of
not my earthly weight
but the one that caught my cloud
Is that the one I've been trying to starve out?
This probably makes no sense unless you live in my brain
NiTSUDD Jun 2018
The artist brought his brush tonight
And spread beauty through the skies for you and I to feast our eyes
As we curl in the grass as the world passes by
I don't mind
For really what else could I find
To better spend my fleeting time
You and I
And the innocent night

I wish I could bottle up the time
For it falls right through my hand like the sand passes by
And you would fall as a victim of the light
Ooooh oh I...
It is so hard to define
The hell that it is to be alone with my mind
Oh all the time

I went a-walkin to the earth
To witness the dearth of where my ancestors gave birth
And run wild as children, naked and free
Then there's me stiff in the ****** trees

Oh the artist brought his brush tonight
And spread beauty in the sky for you and I to feast our eyes
And we curl in the grass as the world passes by
I don't mind
No I really don't mind
will19008 Jul 15
fantasies and the heavens
gathered in fragile moonlight
promises brightly eager
embraced beautifully
with trembling softness

now our starving swings
creak in complicated harmonies
of misunderstood goodbyes
no final tenderness
only a teacher’s regret
To me, nothing is more plaintive than the breeze making the chains on empty swings play their discordant and melancholy tunes in the night air.
Jon York Apr 30
A woman
                  will be
                  as girly as
            you pamper her,
            as intelligent as
          you challenge her,
            and as sensual as
              you entice her,
                so touch her
            using your hands.
          her mind and you
           realize that you've
                been starving
                                                        ­                         Jon York  2010
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, discourse.

I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.

examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you exhale it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.

awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.

the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white is the color of the
starving artist.
Richard Barnes Aug 2018
The mother that feeds her starving children with her own flesh.
Handcuffs made of money.
A pregnant earth giving birth to toxic waste.
Starving children fed empty promises
and grow up to be drug addicts and terrorist.
The mind poisoned by fables and lies.
Gifts given for show, taken back by greed.
The poor being robbed of their human dignity.
Success based on likes, hearts and followers.
Love the only cure.
I feel as though I have given away as much as I can bear,
Without receiving the same in return.
Oh no— I begin to worry.
Where has my selfless nature gone?
Has my genuine desire to uplift the souls around me,
Suddenly vanished from this universe?
Where have those eager and thriving sprouts been buried?
It seems my soil has become much too dry to nourish this growth any longer.
I worry more.
I feel so willing
So capable
But why are my heart and soul
Suddenly so malnourished?
You see truth is,
No matter how strong a plant,
Or how able they are to flourish,
They are less likely to reach this full potential
Without enough
And sunlight.
So yes,
I have become malnourished
But I hold hope
In the countless beings around me
To lend me what I need
To begin new growth.
Julie Rogers Jan 15
My friend who isn’t one
Said being a starving artist is a new aesthetic
Like brunching at farmer’s markets
Paint drips, dropped on, white shirts
No shows, at art shows, in SoHo
Exotic meds, white dreads, still fed
Living in your bed head

My cat, she knows the truth
Napping on a pile of wet cat food

Actually, it’s
Calling your chef friend Michael again
And asking him if he knows a different way
To make ramen taste better
Because last time it still tasted
Like you forgot to pay your light bill
tinhearts Jul 2018
Written as questions in kindness
Never any animosity
Just wondering inspired in genuine Finesse
Why all this need for universal popularity ?

Why do you need recognition from people to pump up your EGO
When you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself
Now days “self”rules demanding such attention
What good is It if you gain the whole world and lose your soul

Social media is a force field of flattery
Likes loves and followers celebrated when more is accomplished
I think it’s  disgusting and unflattering
To think you put your self worth according to the numbers you watch add up to impoverished

Sadly this whole world is an avatar
Hiding behind a phone or computer so long they don’t recognize their pets anymore
Starving for some real attention because even the kids are on devices with games of war
How do families expect to get to know each other with text messages being their main source of communication

Poets are pompous needing extra recognition
Scarcely do they realize it’s all vanity
Bragging about publications for impressing exhibition
The Bible has said every word with powerful rhapsody

Where oh where is a humble writer
“The lovely and delicately bred”
No need for a public fanfare
At least in the Bible you know every word is in-breathed

No questioning the authority
Perplexing yet light lit lines
I’m a peculiar type of believing in honesty
Loving the poem or letting it lye

Truth be known I’m not a big poetry fan
It flows and I write what I must
Sincerely saddened at the starving hearts speaking of a suicide plan
Believing God’s Will being written within us

My purpose is to be where I can share the mysteries
“We have become orphans, fatherless our mothers are like widows.”
None of it is about me
Love ~being an unknown entity  unpopularily

Always search for open windows
Search for refreshment in every breeze
Don’t allow popularity to guide your soul
Any light you see grab hold and find its virginity inwardly

“Woe is me! I am fainting before murderers”
lirau Jul 2018
The dark reflects off the mirrors
A long t-shirt fondly used to cover my mornings
Fell for what sought me

With ferocious caresses
I am a carcass thrown to a starving lion.
But I'm still breathing
Against the shoulders above me
In return

He prowls
The rainforest path of clothing,
Tugging the shirt back over my head.
written in a starbucks while staring at my friend
edited Aug 12
While some eat for fun,
others are starving for a single bun.
Xant Sep 19
The truth is
what once was yellow brick road
is now red from blood
blotched by dirt
and partly
covered in moss

I see no purpose nor hope
in following this particular road
that leads me back to a place
so called 'home'

It's rather unpromising
and untempting
unwelcoming even
And it makes me think;

At the end of the road,
will I be left to rot
by the people who once swore
that I will be loved
but would leave me standing
forsaken and starving
like they used to do

And so I'd rather stay in Oz
Then to follow the 'yellow brick road'
To get to a place where
I were to be ignored
My high school friend who had a dysfunctional family told me that she would never want to go home ever again.

She sees her family as what was beautiful, now sorrowful.

I could only imagine how her sweet childhood memories (re: yellow brick road) had turned bitter (re: red from blood).

And this poem, I dedicate it to her.
I wish her happiness :)
Canis Latrans Feb 23
You took the beasts among us,
and made them gods.
ravenous gods.
Lizzy Apr 2014
Relapse and rewind
This happens every ******* time.
I've been neglecting the drugs,
The ones that were supposed to save me.

They only make it worse
Make me feel more crazy.
But when the time comes
Where my tide breaks
I cannot hold my ground.
The monsters come to me
With deafening sound.

Whispers from malevolent lips
Sound so sweet.
Like candy for my starving soul.
And soon I'm on that sugar high.

Rushing cherry red
It's got such a lovely flavor.
Feeds my hunger
Satisfies my thirst.

It won't be long
Before I'm back for more.
Jesse stillwater Jun 2018
Time is fleeting
as the spring river runoff
that gushes out to sea

A heart trickles out
a moment,
minute by minute,
in a timeless ink drop;
unmeasurable expanse
     immured in spilled ink ―
   manifest in the lexicon of poetry

For only purged words
cannot quench this thirst
that is loneliness;
it's a hunger that gnaws
like an unsatisfiable ache ―
a starving emptiness
all hearts
do one day taste

Left in the sight
of doubt
and eyes that fail
to believe what they see
lain fallow in the silent

Lost in a lingering void
unburied all around,
bespoken out loud
alone in plain sight
a feigned understanding;
reticent letters shape
reluctant words
to hold forth
enunciated breathe

The only words
that still echo unstilted ―
uttered  words
indelibly felt
from lips once sweet
as daybreak dew
    upon musing tongue ―
tasting the only
voiceless truth
that ever broke my heart

a vanishing wave
that moved an ocean
   deeply ...

Jesse Stillwater ... 06 6 2018
Notes:   unstilted:  Adj. - flowing naturally and continuously

Thank you for listening to my 2 cents ...
the hate
comes from every angle
but mostly from the heart
in spite of glaring
that leaves the
lawn uncut;
as if littered driveways
and starving dogs
justify another term
of stolen wealth
After watching the recent debates.
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