I was 17,
when we discussed workout routines in gym,
thin legs branching from ruby-red shorts,
skin pale and dappled in winter air.
I described my workout of 200's.
200 crunches, 200 sit-ups, etc. etc. etc.
"You make me feel fat,"
my model- built friend complained.

I stared down at my shrinking thighs,
wondering how fat she would feel,
with hollow spaces beneath her skin,
numbed by the gnawing of metabolism on muscle.
If she could feel her labored breaths circulate
through drained limbs,
and saw the stars and sparks in the haze of exhaustion,
that perpetuated around me.
If she shivered
walking home in without a coat in December
simply because
Cold burned more calories than warm.  

At 17, I learned
Electric blankets were invented for asylum patients
so they wouldn't freeze when they were lain outside
to get fresh air.
I shivered under mine in a warm house--
strangled by three layers of hoodies,
a morbidly comical scene-- the skeletal inmate cowering
in masses of cotton
and still cold.

The skeleton in the mirror had no eyes,
Only its bloated stomach stared back at me.
Forget the thigh-gap,
the stomach was the only thing that mattered.
It should be as flat as the unleavened bread
I refused at communion:
I didn't know how many calories it had.

I was 17,
when the word "beauty" fell from my vocabulary.  
Lank, unwashed hair hung limp to hide the
Inflamed scratches on my face: feeble efforts to eradicate
the hatred, guilt, over two extra bites,
and what I had become.
Here I was, in all my gollum-like, two by four perfection:
except the stomach.
That ****** bloated *****
I wished I could tear it from my body,
Throw it aside to rot on the heap
of moulding high-school dreams
I kept in the corner of my room.

But it remained, day after day,
the stubborn thing stayed on,
even when filled with saltwater,
to force it to give up the last bit of its contents.
Three mugs, and several tablespoons later
it finally relinquished,
in the emergency room,
as my mother stood
holding my hair and crying.
I still thought she was over-reacting.

I looked up at the ER doctor,
middle aged and blonde,
her eyes were sympathetic, but annoyed,
As she asked me if I was trying to **** myself.
"No," I said. Not Yet I thought,
I heard my dry throat crack with the words,
"I have an eating disorder."

Memories kept so close at heart.
Pictures, Letters, etc.
But in all Reality, Memories are just a figment of ones imagination.
Holding on to something that time has eradicated for good.
Let it go.
Please oh please, Just let it go.

Hi, how are you?

I hope you're having a good day
and you have a smile
on your pretty face
and I wish I would have listened more
to what you had to say

but hindsight is twenty
and vision gets blurry
words gets slurry
when you were scared
and needed somebody
I was out with a friend
getting drunk at a party

I'd blame ADD
but in reality
it's just me
always thinking about me

when you were there
and that would have been better
so I wrote you this letter
to let you know
I enjoyed our time together

I'm going to leave it up 4 a while
so you see it
if you're on the bus
or waiting for a train
maybe you'll read it

and whether or not
a difference that makes
I just thought you should know
I still think you're great
okay, I have to go now
hope you have a nice day

Died
left hanging.

half of me
died
and gone

i dont know
im not sure

im done

the silence
the distance
they wanna see things through
somehow
some way
they want to see it through
let that pain fade

blocked out of life
family
the stain

for real
i feel silence even when it's on the internet
conversations with a cousin that I feel like I never met
cuz she wasn't there
and she said no
and now it's like hey here I am again
but where'd you go

I don't understand it why people have conflict
and silence
and people choose to go separate ways
to avoid domestic violence
I'm the only baby crying
not understanding
why there's no planning
why it's not working

what do you say
to a person who just flew away
now they're back
on the other line
and you're trying to figure out
why

what's the point
do you have an agenda
are you trying to make a means
to all that we ended
to the separation
why it happened
why we left each other
son, daughter, girlfriend, boyfriend, brother, sister
husband wife
all i see is strife

but there's another way
that's all I can say
that's the only explanation
**** happens
and you move forward
what else can be done
and I hate using these mantras
to keep my life making sense
he's crazy
you're crazy
she's crazy

what about

life is crazy

so i smell the daisies
and feed the wolf
of good

and not the wolf
that eats at my soul

because I am a traveler
and this is my road

Look in the mirror
He said
And say these words
to yourself

You are beautiful
Just the way you are.

I couldn't
I couldn't say those words.

I couldn't even look
Look myself in the eyes

Not without crying
Not without dying

Why sir
Why should I do this
I cried to him
He just looked at me

You were made
To be perfect

You are beautiful
On the inside

That night I knew
I had to change

I couldn't do it anymore
Hating myself

I had to find peace
With myself

So that night
I looked in the mirror

But I saw something
Something strange

It was me,
But I could look into my eyes

So I did
And said those word

You are beautiful.