They don't tell you about the truly tragic parts of these disorders.
About how I haven't showered for 4 days because my life has lost its meaning.
Or how I have been wearing this shirt for 2 weeks now
because I see no point in changing.
They tell you about pretty symmetrical cuts and tears that flow like rain,
But not about the rock you get in your throat because you can no longer cry,
or how your arms are so burnt and cut up that you can no longer sleep because the pain is so excruciating.
They tell you about how near and beautiful recovery is,
but there is no recovery. There is only here and now. And here and now hurts.
They don't tell you about the amount of men you have *** with just to replace the love you've lost,
yet you end up emptier.
They tell you about poetic sadness, but not about the numbness. Where sadness has festered for so long, it has moulded and lost its taste.
They don't tell you about the 2 year waiting lists just to be rejected,
or about the 3am visits to A+E, because life has gotten so painful that you feel like your chest will explode.
They don't tell you about the physical strains of these illnesses; the jitters in your legs, the shortness of breath, the constant nausea...
They don't tell you about the disappointment your family feels.
They don't tell you how weak you feel, because you can't get out of bed for the 7th day running, and the fainting because you haven't drank for 4 days because keeping yourself alive is more effort than its worth.
They will never tell you about the intrusive thoughts, about ******, ****, babies (I just want them to stop)
They don't tell you about the racist, sexist, critical man that lives in your head.
Or about how when your psychiatrist asks you ''how do you feel?'' You can't answer,
Because you do not feel.
And have not felt for 2 and a half years now.
They don't tell you how difficult it is to find help in a society where self harm is artistic and psychosis is tragically beautiful, and we are all expected to be our own hero.
To ''Save yourself''.
I need help because living like this is not beautiful, it is deblilating and sad. I need help because I am ill, and I can not be my own hero.

In a tsunami of turquiose and honest
Smiles, you sing silently of
Anything but tragedies us others wave
Like flags before us,
Until asked.

The oldest young person I know,
And we laugh together across
The oceans between us.
Making noise; annoying haters.
We could be the coolest cats in the world,
If we cared to.

But we'd rather curl up under
My raindeer- and sheep skins by the  
Fire. I'll temper mead; it'll warm you.
We could watch snow falling, lit from the window
By which it fell. Then suit up in the morning

And make angels and snowmen with the landlord's  
Daughter. I'll throw so many snow ***** in the
Back of your head you'll be curly for
Months. Trust me. I'm Norwegian.
You're dead...

You'd love it. Summers are green and blue.
Life in the city electric.
Ice cream and cold, cold beer.
Out here, so quiet you can hear a thousand birds, a
Myriad of scents; freshness; organic.

This could be our happy place. Our
Safe Haven; our Sweet Away.
I'd read to you.
Write about you.
We'd paint together in the fall.
When all is red and auburn.

But there's distance between us
As wide as worlds.
For now I'll enjoy it alone.
Arms open on
Demand.

You have to stay where your life is.
And myself without the pleasure of
Making all your worries whisper away on the wind.

Girl, may you never be cold. Never sad again.
May the life you are so full of
Repay you with bliss.
With love.
With laughter. Oceans of giggles and hugs in
The sunshine.

I wish you so well it hurts. Yes,
I may think you are some sort of magic woman.
Everything you touch
Loves you.

My friend Kaia has these
Marbles that she hasn't lost
Yet.

A few of them work together
When we discuss my
Alcoholic Anger  
Problem:

You have to vent the things that
Irk you. Before you get drunk.
"Get it out and over with.
You'll have nothing to be
Angry about when you
Drink."

So clear.
I am such an
Idiot.

Guys. It's too late for me.
But save yourselves.
No drunk anger ever.

The **** you say...
So glad our mothers will
Never hear us like that.
They'd cry for days.

"Don't go to bed angry," they say.
I say "don't drink a drop with a
Grudge."

It'll **** your
Everything if you keep
Dancing with it; the

House always wins.
You'll never be yourself
Again.

It'll all go away, and it'll
Never be
Worth
It.

God looks in the
Mirror and
Prays.

I started smoking cigarettes again

Something about having another thing burning between my fingers

Besides your hands

Makes me dismiss the feeling that lingers 
when I think of you

Since I can’t have your taste in my mouth

Menthol will have to do

I am addicted 

Isn't this sounding familar?
You **** me inside starting with my lungs

Like the small nicotine sticks do with every inhale

I would much rather your slender fingers in my hand

But for $10 a pack they last around a lot longer than you do 

No matter how much you rot me from the inside out

A piece of me will always be yours

Always

In class the teacher asked
To write a list of our bad habits
Your name showed up in my list
Twice

By that time
I knew I would fall in love
With anything that would remind me
Of how it felt to be alive

I was taught that roses can grow anywhere
And that I had to be careful
Whose heart I choose to grow them
My bad

They told me I deserved better
But the ones I deserved
Were chasing girls
They didn’t

I learned the hard way
That life is much like a party
You arrive at your fullest
And get out like ****

Falling in love reminds me of being drunk
Not matter how bad the hangover is
You would still drink again
Because the feeling it gives you
Is indescribable



I know I’m getting older
Because my childhood dream
Of being invisible
Has turned into a nightmare

The edges of my soul
Are sharper now
I’ve got some demons inside
Don’t get too close darling

Fire raises like a work of art
In front of me
And it keeps me from seeing
It’s burning my life to ashes

You could have stopped all of this
But you ran away
Like a poem
With feet
Arms
And a heartbeat

Your legs slightly bruised
From twigs and tall grass
Belong in my lap

Where you wiggle your toes
With excitement
Over cold, sweet fruit salad

And the purples and crimson
Of sun-now-down
That evade the lens of your

iPhone through the window.
What? you ask half
Laughing at my smile.

It feels like before, I'm
Tempted to say. *I have nothing
More, Your Honour.

I want to be a hippie but my
mum says no, she says i smell to clean  
an short hair as a hippie just doesnt go.
  
I want to be a hippie but my dad
says no as the only drug i take is
asprin and son asprin is a drug a
hippie just cant smoke.
  
A hippie loves peace and the thought
of love, you build war machines so death
isnt for hippies and you think
love is a joke.
  
So my son you dont drink you
dont smoke or do any kind of drug, you
have short hair so a hippie you'll
never be so no means no.

I think you are so pretty
No I'm not saying that to get your number
And to slither down your pants
So I could feel loved for a night

I just want to let you know
That Photoshop the is poison to the image called your heart
Super models in magazines have it all wrong,
No matter how much you touch it up
I can still see that girl at the senior prom
Waiting on the door step
Waiting for the object called man
Because all of the movies teach you that you can live without one

I know you are an angel,
Drifting through life
Like dandelions drifting through the Colorado air.
Somehow without anyone constantly reminding you
That your parents telling you that you are a princess
Isn't just an empty complement
It is their hearts having a waltz with yours
Trying to forget the rusty anchors that are holding the real you in check.
You keep forgetting to let it go.

Let it go
Let it go like the cigarette burns
That swell your personality into madness
It drives you to the point
Where you see what the bullies at school call you

Ugly
Ugly is written in five languages is still called ugly
But you can't see that ugly is just a word.

I'm not saying that you should be women that don't need no men
Because no one likes those people
I'm saying that I'll be waiting for you,
When you want someone to hold your hand
While you watch romantic comedy
Or when you want someone to just hold you
I will be that prince charming that comes to the rescue
Even if you are that girl that is sitting on that porch.

The sun its farewell to the skies
As it cranks out this unexplainable color
That Painters can’t make on their color pallets

The Wind creates this unexplainable noise
The wind gives you reasons to keep dreaming towards the sky
It is something that city slickers can't hear in the rowdy subways

At this time the sun bids me farewell
But don't worry, It will return
When it pokes its head out
On the east