it's so tiring,
this back and forth in my brain.

i want to be better.
i want to be content
just as i am.
i want to be able to exhale,
relax
and shut out the voices that tell me otherwise.
but they overpower me.

"my stomach looks good today",
"my legs aren't huge",
"i'm not ugly",
i try to say as my hands tell a different story.
grabbing at fat and skin,
trying to find any imperfection to prove me wrong.
and this is where the confusion starts:
looking in the mirror.

what do i look like?
how should i feel?
am i actually fat?
am i deluded to think i might not be?
i have no idea the answer to any of those questions
and millions just like them scream at me.
every minute.
every day.

if i am fat,
should i be trying to lose weight?
or should i try to accept how i look?

i try to be better,
to cope,
but i don't know which voice is right.
i don't know who to listen to.
and i'm trapped in this in between.

it's ******* exhausting so someone just tell me what to do

Empty bags and candy wrappers
Left strewn about
From my last attempt
To fill this feeling
To suppress this anxiety
Only for it to fail
And give birth to a different sickness

The rage I feel when I look in the mirror
The body I was given
And all that I have done to it
I want it to be beautiful
But just can’t keep up with the work
So the burning grows inside
I’ve gotta let it out
And I want it to hurt

There’s no one else to blame
No other half
I’ve just one brain
There is no wicked tempter
Only chemically driven impulse
I only lose my temper on myself
I want to squeeze til there’s no pulse
I want to shatter my mirror
And use the broken pieces
To carve the body I wished to see
When the mirror was whole

I sit inside a body in blood that isnt my own. There are voices calling out a name, a name attached to this vessel. It's not mine.
I am conscious of my state, this sentience pains me.
I know what's out there. I know my potential, what I could be. This barrier of skin and blood prevents me. It hurts.
I'll sit in this shell of a body to be perceived by those who happen to pass by. Wading in blood that isnt my own, with skin like marble begging to be carved into, and I won't mind.
This body isnt my body, my body is inside.

"You're beautiful"
A stranger so plainly writes
The notification appears so clearly
At top of screen
You pull and stretch your shirt
So as to better hide your body
Stumbling towards the mirror
You prepare yourself for battle
The dysmorphia of your body
So violently attacks your subconscious
Every mirror, camera, reflection in window
So clearly reminds you of ugliness, the
shadow that creeps behind, that you can't escape from
You pick at your body
Squeeze, pinch, and dissect every cell
As you find each and every thing
Wrong
You long for the day where you say
"I'm beautiful"

im soft right now

and part of me wonders

will you love me when im no longer soft

when my muscles shift and my hips get bony

will you tell me to put on a few pounds

put some meat on my bones

when im no longer a soprano or even an alto

will you tell me my voice is too loud and booming

that i should speak softly

when hair blankets my body like moss on a stone

will you tell me my kisses hurt you

that if i dont shave every day its too itchy to bear

will my body be the end of us

i hope not



because under enough blankets my hips wont poke you

and after enough lullabies everything feels quiet

and with enough beard oil anything is soft enough to kiss

Did you ever think we could've been twins? Not like born together. Not fused like the two sides of an oyster encapsulating a precious pearl. No, I mean like the two sides of a mirror. Perfect opposites. Equally opposite damaged from long days of staring and hoping, and laughing and crying. Begging for things to maybe resolve, maybe become clearer. Maybe disappear with the steam of the 2.AM shower in the pitch dark. Hiding imperfections so that maybe they won't exist. I want to look at us both without fear of what I might see.
I want to see the correct way of viewing things and not the enhanced wrongness of a backward reflection. If we are the same then tell me that from your side we are better. That from your side we are stronger. That....just maybe...from your side, I am right for once.

Out it comes -
the feelings, nerves, anxiety
You may catch but a glimpse of what I actually feel,
but I doubt it -
Even I only see the meal.

It's become second nature.
I don't even think anymore,
just to end up doing it more and more.
Someday I'll have to stop,
but for now, I'm kneeling on the bathroom floor.

Since I was littler,
it's always made me cry.
But it's not a luxury, rather a nessecity.
Thinking about it now,
I don't even want your pity.

I keep going and going,
not realizing the pressure manipulating me,
and that in reality - I'm suffering from a disease.
One day, I'll have to give it up,
but right now I'm too terrified to cease.