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Skyla Dec 2018
I’ll put the fork in my eye, and the knife in my heart.
Not the best beginning to a meal, but it’s a start.

Cut the food into tiny pieces.
Nibble on the smallest morsel you can find.
Oh no! Too much! Press pause, and rewind.

Do the only thing you know how to do:
Shrink shrink shrink your food.
Cut it all up until the pieces are so small, you’d need a microscope to see them.
This may take hours.  But at least it will last for the entirety of dinner.

Dinner conversation, make the first initiation.
“How was your day?”  and
“What did you do?”
Whistle for the dog, and “oh no! I dropped my food!”

“School was quite interesting, and my day was great”
You smile as you quietly scrape the demons off your plate
Your hands almost pick up the bread, with a tug and a pull
“I’m buried in homework, thank you mommy, I’m full”

Those lies will send you straight to Hell,
You’re rotten with sin.
But a girl’s gotta do anything to stay thin.
Finally, another night, and another win.

An angel’s gotta do a devil’s work to stay looking like an angel, outside and within
fearfulpoet Mar 22
Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)

”but who am I to complain
the  razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”

Aug. 2018

~~~

this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every stroke

we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision

so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar

who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?

so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,

and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together


until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet
3/21/19 4:15 am
celestial Feb 2018
to love thine own self is a masquerade,
concealing the shrine of hallowed skeletons,
whom we worship, and to whom we sacrifice
our ghastly flesh, as we set fire to our lungs
with cigarettes, to numb our bodies' aching;
pumped full of diet coke and *******,
filling the gaps: it makes you thinner,
and there is no beauty without pain.
i think i'm relapsing.
J Oct 2018
Would every frustration
Cease to exist
If I were
Ten pounds thinner?

Or might I
Be more equipped
to assist
If i just ate some freaking dinner?

Oh ‘my fitness pal’
I’m onto you now.
You aren’t my friend I guess
If you just cause me to obsess
Over every step and calorie
And of every single setback...
you must remind me constantly.

Remind me there’s way more to it all
Than being super thin
And that being healthy truly is
The only way to win.
I have been on the front lines of a stupid lifelong war with food and logic.  This is a real thing even though it seems silly to people who don’t experience it.  Figuring out how much you have to excercise to work off a snickers is most definitely a thing.  If you get this, it’s worth it to eat and eat smartly.  It will help you think more rationally.
RK Aug 2018
I was thinking about you and reminding myself not to interfere but it’s so hard not to, when I love you.

Still, that gives me no special rights so I ended up minding my own business.
The whole saga unfolding before my eyes I tried to reach you fibrationally. I sent you love and kind wishes and many blessings
All the while realizing the dangerous situation you had encountered.
I saw you  losing your vitality!
I prayed this prayer for you !

Move away from the toxic atmosphere. That cut throat, manipulating back stabbing, "you scratch my back,  I’ll scratch yours, if you want to succeed in this life, attitude."

That environment is not good for you...

Money isn't everything! Pray tell me, if you lose your soul what good is the whole world?  It will be empty, destructive and counter productive.  If you say you need more you tell yourself a lie, you already have everything. Why create a lack, a void, where none exists? I watch you grow paler thinner-the light in your soul  dimmer, a bare glimmer of the one you truly are. The dis-ease is spreading like wild fire burning you out mercilessly, eating your liver. Destroying your beautiful vigour.  

I see it so clearly, will you hear, will you hear?

You see, I remember you! Yes, you had everything. Love, kindness and empathy, all these beautiful soul qualities. You knew how to share, care and be fair.
Now you are empty with lots of money, you have nothing and everything. What a ****** dilemma!

The degrees hard earned, and book knowledge but nothing really of true value, no equilibrium, balance.  
Too much of everything! And you told me you are full of despair. You laid you're heart and soul bare, a circle outside the square, yes I heard you.
You've travelled far, drive a fancy car. Nothing wrong with that, the world is your oyster.
Though in the grand scheme of things, do those  things really count for anything.  Albeit money itself isn't the real issue here. It's the belief that without it you are nothing. The words nothing and everything are so misunderstood! We all have to work out this stupid and harsh conundrum.

You included!

Thats if you want to know the true meaning of success, of being blessed, that is...

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear?
The prayer answered ...

Oh! I hear, I hear! loud and crystal clear.
I now know, and of this you can be sure. It's taken a long time to work it all out. Now I'm here, and close enough to understanding the conundrum.

So yes,  I hear!

And I understand The dilemma! Not left or right,  but the centre. The circle squared if you like! I had to go through all the fear, oh! the terrible fear to find the truth. The courage to work though the pain the suffering.

I remember when I started out.  I didn't fit in at first.  I was so innocent, a lamb to the slaughter.  I became so competitive. I fought, driven by ambition, t'was like an addiction. I wanted more, worn down to the floor accumulating, name, position of authority, the status. The friends, the enemies! Who is who? Trying to figure it out was horrendous.  I lived in dread, under the threat I'd lose it all. The sleepless nights, the reflux, anxiety,  the psoriases, the fall.
But I kept climbing! Never staying too long on and any one rung, moving higher and higher. The ladder was made from steel, the building made from concrete blocks, while I, was born of only mere flesh and blood, a mortal being going under. Saved by grace, seeing my beautiful being, falling asunder.  


The awakening!

I'm clearing the slate of all the confusion, delusion, and getting to the emptiness where I now reside alone, not born only of flesh and blood,  but of spirit, of good. With God in my soul, I now know
the glory and wonder of the world.

Peace
Hmm, I'm not sure if this is suitable to post but I'm posting anyway. It's a dialogue in my head I had this morning. A friend and I have discussed these problems and issues and this morning I j found myself thinking of this person and marvelling how this dear one  came through such a rough period in life. All these musings are based on all the suffering the person went through!
Peace
Gabriel burnS Dec 2018
The light tail of the tail light leaves me blue in the dark hues
… when it carries away what I belong to…
Unfolding the tar-black sky of asphalt, the longest arm of missing you…
My body is now the distance between us, big and empty,
The bigger, the emptier, thinner than air…
As time piles up, my ladders turn into pointless meters
Measuring the ratio of nothing in everything
...telltale
Amanda Jul 29
in the land of maybe,
you meet me before her
i’m about fifteen pounds thinner
five inches taller
and thirty shades more stable
i don’t write poetry
like a depressed teenager
i don’t cry every time we’re together
and i take care of you for a change
in the land of maybe,
i’m just a little less me
and a little more her
i find myself saying
“maybe if i was .....
he’d love me?”

thinking about your
maybeland self
may be
the fastest way to hate
your actual self
Skyla Apr 20
Am I beautiful or am I sick?
   Am I disgusting, do my eyes play tricks?
I grab my skin with a **** and a pinch
       I feel my body with every nitpick
Thousands of things that I need to fix

Shaking, I open my eyes to face the mirror
There is so much pain, there is so much fear.
There’s nothing but porcelain glass
         with maybe a smudge
And a girl staring back with a body to judge
My vision is blurry, as my eyes well with tears
As flashes of all of the wasted years
Run through my mind, and inside I find,
That maybe I’m the one who can’t see
Maybe I’m the one who is blind
Softly, I touch the glass, and I continue to stare
And a feeling overcomes me, a feeling so rare
That my body doesn’t look the way I thought
The desire of self-love, I viciously sought
I don’t see fat, I don’t see skinny,
I see ache, I see empty, I see hurt, I see fake
I see insatiable hunger,
but I don’t see a number
I see tears, I see bone, I see fear, I see alone.
The mirror doesn’t show a monster
It shows a ravenous daughter
Hungry for love and hungry for affection
Connection and affection achieved through perfection
Maybe some attention
Sobbing mother, angry father, hurting girl
Melancholy, resentment, crashing world

The thinner isn’t the winner,
To heal is to finally feel real
Smiling mother, affectionate father, healing girl.  
Numbers slowly disappear, and blossoms a colourful world
I try to feign disgust but I cannot fool myself
So I begin to trust the light inside of myself

Abandon the habit of starving out of spite
Climb out of the darkness and into the light
There is nothing that I cannot try to write
The hands around your neck in a chokehold
                 tries to squeeze tight
             But the fingers, they loosen,
          and your body begs you to try.  
    Looking at my food, I think that I might
               Lips aquiver, I take a bite.  
           Everything is going to be okay
              One bite at a time, slowly,
                   each and every day.
Skaidrum Aug 2015
The stars aren't as tasteful
       as I'd hoped they'd be,
You fickle moon,
You eclipse of a lover.

           Vinegar.  That's what
those cosmic light bulbs we
call stars taste like.          Raw
and savoring, bold & eccentric.
          Kissing summer on winter's lips
          The cheek of spring still stings from autumn's hand

And I'm marooned in this fine
                            red wine hour,
  nostalgic in the art of reading
          The hum of dragons pulse~
The whisper of the wolven breath,
                         This time around your blood
                                        was thinner than ice.
Twisting the tendrils of our thistled love
across my snowy throat,
            Crimson is so ******* beautiful
It was your job to swallow sunsets and it
was mine to throw up sunrises.           We
followed the commandments branded on
my cheeks.  
                         It was the only bible we had,
                         Because my scars were worth
                                                         "s­omething"

When the roof of the sky meets the jaw of
the sun, the teeth are the clouds & constellations.
I fed the world my spine because it was starving.
         chinking off marrow, and mouthfuls of my flesh,
Devour me.
                    And in my wake you shifted the lapis void,
                     forcing my eyes open as gold tears spilt

Streetlamps groaning at midnight,
will you watch the ravens with me at 3 a.m?
I'm not one for fate but,
          destiny is mine for the taking.
Bones wish they're bending,
     yet promise they're not breaking.
I bargained my soul and sins with Lupus,
and now I am his poet.
                       A daughter of aurora borealis,
                     buckets full of silver  sloshing admist
                           my eyes.
                      When I no longer love you,
                               it will be silent,
                                and tragic.
.
This one's for you,
my wolf girl.
I'm sorry that I am
the reason you're
suffering.


© Copywrite Skaidrum
veritas Oct 2018
if you kiss a statue in the dark,does
it leave a mark?like the moonlight's

cold stain on pale columns of necks and
thinner bones of knuckles,or like the

heavy-handed cracks on thighs and
mine own,leaking gold to match.it's

easy to admit a mistake in the dark
is
what you say,but marble lips leave

little space for contrition.there's irony

in that,in rennaisance-made lovers who
screamed for dominions and settled in

ash instead.history is adjusted,and the
cycle continues.but they left their jaws

open,and the light is pouring out.
the secrets that statues never tell us
Caro Jul 2018
SOUL: Wrapping around me,
Holding me close,
Tapping itself and clothing my nose.
Keeping me in and tight.
My safety and my sensation.

Feeling sunshine and shame,
Goosebumps and bruises,
Keeping me intact.
It changes color and indicates.
Touching me,
completely.

The skin on my back my protectorate.
The skin on my hands my guide.
The skin on my face my years here.

It is with me to the end.
It grows and stretches and covers my vessel.
It flinches and heals and craves to be nestled.
It sweats and bleeds and cracks.
It wrinkles and sags.
And Baby, it’s you and it’s me.
But beautifully, painfully, tragically it is not.

Because once the skin has done all it can do.
Once it is thinner and can work for this Sinner no more.
Once it has lived and known me through and true.
Though I have lived and known it too.
It dies.

And I go on. To claim another skin.

A skin to clothe my nose.
A skin to protect my soul.
A vehicle to let me travel on this earth I think I know.

Poor skin. Naive and Perfect.

SKIN: Poor soul.
Going on forever ever,
and never ending,
never resting,
always needing me.
KiraLili Sep 2016
The higher you trek up the thinner the air and thicker the mist
Forest get smaller as you ascend the stairs to Valhalla
Finally there are no more trees standing as you brush the last one
It's a hot summer day down below but cool at mile high
Gushing glacier fed water falls hammer overfilled drainages
Low laurel leaves bathe your boots in dew
Trails climb past these small deep stream side gorges
At these elevations your view plummets down the tight buttress valleys
Optic nerves are drawn to so many cascading vistas
Brow sweat is wiped by bandanas dipped in cold golden ponds
The snow is all gone but you can still see where it's weight smoothed mountains
Near the top of the craggy pinnacle is table top ledge
As if carved by the a larger hand
Butane hisses as coffee perks to a rolling boil
Steam from one tin cup joins the mountains mist
Thin air breaths slow from exertion
One sip of brew and you can hear the mountains exhale with you
Fisher Peak Kootenay Rockies mid 90s
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
the first thing namable
the one
the idea
thing beyond thought

not a bang, a be,
an ever,
expanding
to this point.

Now, you understand.
Cross past
the plain of salt,
bearing light,

lightest of burdens.
Climb the western
edge, the cleft
in the rock.

Find that.
Wait and watch,
the light thins
into night.

There is no darkness,
only thinner light.
You stand under
stars, aware.
While watching Season 3 of Phillip K. ****'s Man in the High Castle, Frank Fink's Son of the Law ritual wrapping of the Word from Ha Shem, that traditional masking of the name  Je-**-vah. Bar Mitz-vah, the message of light intended for initiates, but lost in a box that is dark inside.
It all began when a gentle heart fell for a wild heart. And as their walls grew thinner it became more crystal clear that; them meeting was more of an alignment than a happenstance. They were indeed two sides of the same soul.
©Sonia Ettyang
....whichever direction they each chose to follow was their own decided fate.
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