"vomitting" poems
I wake up and eat some eggs, a yogurt, and a few slices of melon
in an attempt to change my life
after all it is that or death
I won't hold my breath
It's a beautiful day to head to the mall
with a friend
I really know where this is going
Hmm
I like that shirt
Oops, this store doesn't offer plus size
On to the next..
I really like these jeans..
Forty five dollars for sizes sixteen and up
What a mess!
Since I refuse to let Lane Bryant **** my wallet in the ***
I decide to head to Barnes and Noble instead
I accidentally bumped into a lady and her baby stroller as I walked past and she mumbled
"Fat ***** under her breath
Yes that's what she said
I didn't even turn my head
Because that's what the lady said
and that's what society says
and instead of trying to explain it's just
easier to walk away
it's the self hatred after I dread
So I buy a whole pizza and eat the entire ******* thing
and it is beyond delicious
though the guilt I feel afterwards wasn't worth it
and vomitting that **** up was viscous
Even when I was a little girl I dreamed of being thin
I dreamed of being a model
I dreamed of having a flat tummy
Just to fit in
I didn't like the belly I had
or the fat in my cheeks
I was the only kid in gym that could never climb the rope
and that began a string of anxiety attacks
that would last for weeks
The doctor calls it insulin resistance
which leaves me with the inability to lose weight
but I shouldn't have to explain to anyone my condition
I just shouldn't have to explain
not to mention the ovarian disease that cripples me to my knees
which so happens to be genetic
and mimics the blood of a diabetic
leaving me incurable
a medical mystery
not to mention infertility
so for me
children are just a dream
Although I tell myself
that I am beautiful
and that I am intelligent
and that I am funny
and that I am a hard worker
and that I am successful
and that I am caring
and that I am loving
and that I am daring
and that I am the best **** friend a person could ever have
To a stranger I'm just a "fat *****
and you know what?
That makes me really ******* sad
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
And after that I am still a hollow where the
fairies hide from darkness and poisons. I
am still growing flowers out of my womb
and that is why they stink like ************
And after that your disbelief kills all my
sparky pixies and after that I cannot be
anything more than a hollow hollow. But
yeah I am still growing flowers out of my
wound and that is why I scream and cry
when you touch them.
And after that the stillness of the air inside
me and the remnant echo of morning songs
attract the darkness to come. And after that
I think she may feel lonely so I invite
poisons to also come along.
And after that I am still growing flowers
out of the wound on my womb. They still
stink like ************ and after that
vomitting feels like womanhood thing. And
after that my flowers are still immortal and
that is why sometimes you see blood clot
floating around the moon.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
My demons come when I am weak
wounded lion spirit
hyenas scratching at my bloodied sides
fingers pushing at cracked glass soul
corpse of decayed love whisper vile insanities
once kind life voices mewling crowing
over fresh ****** wounds to new for rotten
push your grey fingers in through my split skin
fish hook tenderness as you disport in my misery
defiled by the profanity of soiled joy
black shapes flap and rattle at the thin glass
break through with the shards and pierce my soul
my heart is frozen by your lapping rising tide of eversore caresses
too late to cry for help if death comes to me in a demon's red eye
it will find a fallen spirit of light burnt by close flame falsehood
and regrets barren embraces
held in the grip of the twisted gone
it is the crack-scabbed tomorrow that mocks my today
wounds cry tears of knife edge expectancy
arms shrink at cutting-shrine memories
God cannot stand against you but vomitting can play his role
4004 6015 numbers list your mocking horde
to late for redeemers blades
reject and defile the war cry of the un-dead
choosers of the slain cross skies of dead hope stars
No dandelion seed would stoop to carry my soul
too twisted for heaven's soil
rotted leaf shrine heat of decay warmth
no hell for demons to dwell carried within heart-carcass vessel
sail through eternities baying grief this reward
cherish fear and pain marks the hours of still alive
window of thin despair ready to crash but striving still
gossamer molecule threads still cleave to me
fight against 1916 cloying of death-sweet expectancy
shell hole camaraderie with last summers corpse gas kisses
twenty-eight pills later summer needs to come soon
at four degrees I can be water ice or gas can I be alive
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC
I'm currenty somewhere between
Emotionally void
And too emotional.
It's not just OCD, or depression, or anxiety.
Or what everyone else thinks I have.
Just, you know,
ASPD.
Ha.
It makes me laugh.
**** yourself.
I need therapy again,
And I'm so jealous of those who can afford it.
I need meds,
And I'm so angry at those who can get it.
I know I need help.
But when you act out or ask for help
And all you get is silenced
Because it means your parenting is week
Because you care how it affects someone else instead
Because it is too much for you too handle
Because you'd rather I fix you,
Then I'm not going to get better.
Do you know how I solve it alone?
Razors and safety pins to make it dull,
Nyquil and Tylenol PM to get some rest.
***** and **** to medicate the main problems,
And binging and vomitting to get the physique back.
Maybe I don't need help.
This seems to be working pretty.
Well, only if pretty well means not at all.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Life is but a series of redundancies strung together. Sitched with tragedy by ****** hands, I only hope not to stain the thread.
Every event in this existence is nothing more than a domino in an endless time loop
, constantly falling/ constantly falling / i am falling.
fact: the name of the spots on domino tiles are called pips and i’ve tried killing myself two times.
The night I snuck 3 orange bottles from the kitchen cupboard and melted into pillows/into bed sheets/ into wooden ikea frame
waking up to not shiny gates but my mother holding a skeleton in the shower
head in a galaxy so far way i almost missed my alarm clock.
i wanted to hit the snooze but got a glass full of charcoal instead.
mm was just how i like my coffee, black and ***** inducing.
fact: charcoal is among the purest forms of carbon as are diamonds
I am not a diamond, but a piece of pyrite. fool’s gold.
The second time two years later involved a bulk bottle of excedrin
one part aspirin, one part tylenol, one part caffeine.
if you ever try to off yourself i don’t recommend this recipe,
dog ear it in your terminal cook book as do not try this at home
you will lie on your bedroom vomitting your intestines until your parents are tired of hearing it
They will make you go to school the next day.
You wont.
fact: The most common causes of death are heart disease and cancer. Suicide is number 11
My world spilled over like a bag of glass marbles hitting the floor
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
**Again I make one ill
I am
The Poetic Emetic**
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
please
invite me
to the nearest
public bathroom
where it smells like
when you put your hand
on my right cheek
and we
kissed
and kissed
and kissed
with our mcdonald's
tongues
boy you were
literally
everything i
needed
i could go on
forever
until you made
vomitting sound
which i
didn't
it was dawn
we were warm
you left me
but you were the one
who cried
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
She looks at herself in the mirror
She groans, displeased with her figure
Cuts down food, skips her meals
No one knows how fat she feels.
Exercising day and night
Trying to fit in clothes too tight
5 pounds, 10 pounds, 20 pounds lost
She's got it controlled: she's her own boss.
A gut-wrenching feeling, it's all so new
Taking in food, but very very few
Feels like vomitting all of her time
To get back on her feet is a very long climb
Every bite was such a torture
Every swallow was even worse
She doesn't know, doesn't understand
Turning down every lending hand
She gets mad and she gets cranky
She's growing thin, her stomach's empty
She says she's fine, but in truth she lies
And day by day she slowly dies
Losing her friends, but only one stayed
But even that was a price she paid
Her friend told her to continue what she's doing
To stop eating her meals, to stop chewing
Her friend said she was fat, saying she's ugly
"Lose more weight, so that you'll be pretty"
Annie was her name, Annie was a liar
Annie's name is short for Anorexia
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
nevertheless
can't help but remember
what happend that day-
not so fun, huh?
not a proud moment in any of those 24 hours,
just nostalgic
destruction
wanting to go anywhere
to not think about there
here
and now and again
I return to those moments
not to reflect per se
but to induce vomitting-
not so fun
being compared to undesirables,
and yet
so fitting
in a way
or five hundred,
it's you.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
In the literally opinion of my own conscience,
I followed and dropped into the pool of swirling hopeless life,
Rotating as I shout my prayers, drowning.
I yelled and panic take over,
Water surges into my lungs, suffocating, coughing and vomitting water..
Slowly and painfully dying,
I died in vain,
In the lie of my own hopeless conscience.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
i wear my baseball cap backwards
so that everyone around me
can see all of my
half-way decent face
and then I pin
paraphernelia
in the shape of buttons
all around its duck-bill mouth so that
everyone around me
that doesn't care
knows that I care
about
something,
if not
everything.
and in due time
I lose some things
that surrounds my head:
the people, the relics.
Safety pins unfastening
from its worn fibers,
and fluttering
behind my arched back.
My mind,
therefore there is no
organic thought
vomitting through me although
arguably,
I very well might be thinking in
my purest form,
and so I settle in that comfort,
leaving behind a trail of buttons
so that everyone around me
that doesn't care about anything knows that
I can be just like them.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Talking about trash and vomitting i am staring at the ceiling with my dry mouth open
I slept at three and woke up at eleven
It was a sunny morning my roommate left at seven she left the curtain open and why did not she let the window break sometimes i think of jumping but standing on height makes me want to fall to bed and hide under the blanket
I don't want to bathe and eat breakfast but i kept snacking and i wish i were that sweet tooth i haven't washed the dishes and ****** and i am thinking of
Being in a plane
Heat struck and breaking the window the wind the clouds the pressure
I don't know if i am still afraid of heights
I have never been that high enough anyway like i am on the second floor it's never high enough i think of the high buildings in the capital city but i just love her too much
I will not
I will not
I will not let them read me in newspapers
I still think about methods to die but it does not make sense anymore like i want to have bullets on my head like jesus' crown but i don't want the cold thing in my mouth i don't want my head to be a blood fountain out of the blue
I am too drained even to think of running and jumping off a cliff like it's actually dumb and not pretty and i hear that we have so much to live
We have so much to live
I didn't have my breakfast
I am too okay to think this laziness as depression i cannot blame my brain it is too okay it is too okay i am too okay i shouldn't complain
Too much
Too much i complain too much
You grow flowers out of your corpse but all i want to be is to decay into plastic and harm the earth and it's true that such a sad world we live in
I am getting you back here
Sonja i am getting you back here
You are still me
You are still me
You are still me
Welcome home
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
crawling crawling crawling
resurfacing from
the distinct memories
hitting every parts of you
like an atomic bomb
bawling bawling bawling
feeling full
and empty
at the same time
vomitting words, tears, and memories
dying dying dying
but you’re not
you’re breathing
just unstable
somehow sickening, but it will pass
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 6:52 AM UTC
This is a true story; of a group consisting 3 men
Eventually chose a different path.
To paint their tragedies
Into words
1. A stand up comedian.
Tragedy equals comedy, right?
Who are we kidding?
Laughter is indeed the best medicine
Laughter is indeed the best way
To forget about problems
Not to solve them.
Sounds familiar, don't you think?
Yeah, although it's much healthier than
Being an alcoholic.
Heck, in this frickin' country
In this economy
It's cheaper too!
Thus, let's wash our pain for a while
With a little bit of wits to laugh at
Until the scars finally stain.
The scars for later to be brag on
About the kind of struggle we've been through
About the kind of pain we've endure
About the kind of meds we've swallowed to flushed it off from our systems.
Talking about the rule of three right there.
2. A novelist.
Worry equals story, isn't it?
To elaborate things
In the most profound way possible
To dazzle the readers
To amaze them
To speak to them
Without actually
Speaking to them
Making them realize that
That kind of problems do exist
In the most notorious way possible
Hiding in plain sight
Waiting for someone
To unravel the truth
Via the three acts structure.
Talking about the rule of three right there.
3. A poet.
Vulnerability equals poetry, was it?
Not covering tragedy with comedy
This is romanticizing pain
Unspeakable pain
Not because the pain is unspoken
But the speaker
Is unable to speak
The tweeter
Is unable to tweet
The chatter
Is unable to chat
Disguising itself in rhymes
Emphasizing itself in repetition
Pain–pain–pain–pain–pain
Until the word lost its meaning
Doing it over and over again
Highlighting the word that he wants to forget
Fragile–fragile–fragile
Fallen–fallen–fallen
Broken–broken–broken
Talking about the rule of three right there.
People write
Sometimes just because they can't speak
Not because they don't have mouth
But because they don't have the ability to
Or because they don't choose to
Speak for yourself!
And that's exactly what people did
By writing punchlines
By vomitting stories from their brain
By arranging the shattered pieces of themselves
Into letters
Into words
Into sentences
Into bits or paragraphs or verses
Into a whole
Write–write–write–write–write–write
Over and over again
Until it lost its meaning.
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 1:57 PM UTC
My blood is sacred for it waters
the burning drought that surges
the barren outskirt of my skin
It ignites the grave of every dead muscle
killed for shooting a wide toothy smile
across my unquivering lips
It tells long forgotten tales
of all the women I used to be
but failed to see,with eyes shut
vomitting tears of self disdain
and a widespread rash over my skin
My blood is a red flag of relief
from a heap of decapitated veins
and the sardonic cold inside each *****
Every drop, a stifled scream for help
a pitiful plea to be noticed
And a scar-let seductress
waltzing across each arm
In the fading light of room
and the dying music of my heart
but my sacred blood still shines
it spills like barrels of wine
down the outskirts of my barren skin
and from each tiny particle
rises a woman that says "sacred"
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC
The pain downstairs
Was too much to feel
Equal almost to a want
Crushed hence under
The unwanted theory of it
Left alone in some cabin
In an unexplored island
Where love wont devastate
Its honest memory wont hurt
A hurt I worship in secret
Every eye I see cries for me
Every tongue supports me
All are hurt by those actions
Actions which hurt me
Actions which loved me
I may have yelled some
Scratched and bruised pretty
But that time i did not hate
Ain't sure if i loved it either, but
That madness bothered me
At court i sweared holy books
Vomitting out my aggression
Which's easily misunderstood
As according to my family
I am a broken girl
I have but a horrible confession
For i feel dishonored not
I don't feel any shame
Along a life of misery and vain
I went through a consensual pain
Pk
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC