Tag Archives: purple flower

Skinny

How many pounds? How many inches?

How many calories? How many fats?

How many candies? How many veggies?

How many?.. How many?.. How many..?

 

The questions go through her head.

In the morning, afternoon, and night.

She’s always thinking about not eating.

If she eats, that’s another calorie.

 

That’s another gram of body fat.

Another outfit she can’t fit into.

Another outfit she has destroyed again.

That’s another number on the scale.

 

Her notebook is filled with thinspirations.

Skinny girls, skinny foods, skinny tips.

Notes about getting small and skinny.

 

Learning how to eat or not.

What to eat to burn calories.

What to do instead of eating.

What to do to burn calories.

 

Things to do instead of eating.

Drawing, writing, painting, reading, or coloring.

Napping, bathing, doing hair, painting nails.

Walking, running, doing yoga, or fitness.

Not eating is easier than tracking.

Tracking is hard, tiring, and consuming.

Not eating is easier than fitness.

Tracking is hard, boring, and draining.

 

If she gets through a day,

One, single, empty day without eating,

It’s considered a good successful day.

 

To be skinny she has to

Skip a meal, avoid all foods.

To be skinny she has to

Do something other than eating foods.

 

To be skinny she has to

Drink zero calorie, zero sugar tea.

To be skinny she has to

Pretend to not be starving inside.

 

To be skinny means she’s pretty.

To be skinny means she’s confident.

To be skinny means she’s strong.

To be skinny means she’s brave.

 

How many pounds until she’s perfect?

How many calories does to burn?

How many more candies to avoid?

How many?.. How many?.. How many?..

Broken Glass

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​found​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​rocks.

Unclean,​ ​broken,​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.

She​ ​didn’t​ ​know​ ​what​ ​she’s​ ​doing.

Willingly​ ​following​ ​a​ ​friend’s​ ​steps​ ​forward,

Forward​ ​into​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​dark​ ​hole.

A​ ​hole​ ​with​ ​scars​ ​and​ ​cuts.

Blade​ ​of​ ​a​ ​new​ ​pencil​ ​sharpener.

Blunt​ ​end​ ​of​ ​a​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

Broken​ ​glass​ ​found​ ​on​ ​the​ ​street.

Deep,​ ​shallow.​ ​Thick,​ ​thin.​ ​Scars,​ ​cut.

She​ ​was​ ​scared​ ​at​ ​first​ ​cut.

But​ ​she​ ​soon​ ​realized​ ​it​ ​helped,

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​emotional​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​lies​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​tell.

The​ ​stories​ ​her​ ​thoughts​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​whispers​ ​her​ ​ears​ ​would​ ​hear.

The​ ​other’s​ ​thoughts​ ​she’d​ ​listen​ ​to.

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​emotional​ ​pain,​ ​also,

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​thoughts​ ​her​ ​mind​ ​would​ ​explore.

The​ ​images​ ​her​ ​imagination​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​dreams​ ​her​ ​sleep​ ​would​ ​show.

The​ ​ideas​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​brainstorm.

Her​ ​small​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​broken​ ​glass,

Her​ ​sharp​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pencil​ ​sharpeners,

Her​ ​dull​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

To​ ​quiet​ ​her​ ​brain,​ ​thoughts,​ ​ears,

Her​ ​mind,​ ​imagination,​ ​and​ ​sleep.

She’d​ ​guide​ ​the​ ​blade,​ ​glass,​ ​knife

Across​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​and​ ​push​ ​down.

Looking​ ​for​ ​broken​ ​skin​ ​and​ ​blood.

The​ ​cuts​ ​hurt​ ​her​ ​at​ ​first,

But​ ​then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​tickle​ ​sensation.

Then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​numb​ ​gliding​ ​feeling.

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​became​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​became​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​blood.

Unclean,​ ​broken​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.

 

The Weight

She sat outside in the dark.

Alone, with just her calming cigarettes.

And her music, listening to songs.

Songs that belonged to a playlist,

Called scars, a playlist she hears.

When she’s sad, depressed, and alone.

She stares up at the stars.

Stars that are her only light.

The ones that only care, listens.

Millions upon millions in the twilight.

But she still feels more alone.

The fresh cigarette smoke helps calm.

They’re her fresh air from sadness.

The sadness is heavy like rocks.

Rocks on her small, weak shoulders.

She doesn’t know what to do.

How to relieve the unbearable pain.

She wants to sit up straight,

But the weight is too much.

Her shoulders are sore, she’s sore.

The pain can’t be released alone.

But nobody is willing to help.

The weight’s too much for everyone.

She’s left alone to bear it,

Carrying throughout the days and nights.

The cigarette smoke helps her breath,

Underneath all the rock’s hard weight.

She doesn’t know how much longer,

How much more she can take.

She’s getting tired, worn out, weak.

Doesn’t know how to get out,

Out from underneath all the weight.

The Stars

She has nobody during the day.

She lays in bed each night.

After long days she’s weak, tired.

All she has to do is,

Look outside her cold bedroom window.

And look up at the stars.

The stars she can count on.

They’ll always be in the sky.

Even if they’re hiding behind clouds.

She trusts them enough to know.

Know they are listening to her.

Listening to her cries, whispers, wishes.

They shine upon her, giving strength.

Strength to shine bright another day.

They twinkle down, giving her hope.

Hope she’ll find someone, one day.

The stars are her strength, hope.

Without her stars how could she?

How could she be alone again.

Without her stars how will she?

How will she build strength again.

Strength to carry loneliness alongside herself.

The loneliness that nobody else wants.

They leave her alone, baring it.

Burning her strength carrying loneliness along.

Walking swiftly looking down at phones.

Pretending to look busy, avoiding her.

Leaving her more alone than ever.

Making the loneliness seep out hope.

Her hope escaping like caged butterflies.

Flying away, high in the daylight.

Leaving her weak and unhopeful again.

But, with the stars shining, twinkling.

She can gain the strength again.

Collect her hope in her hands.

So once again she’ll endure days.

Because during the day, there’s nobody.

Childhood

She was a young, innocent child.

The whole world at her fingertips.

She’d be able to do anything

She’d want once she grew up.

He was a father figure, adult.

She was once his whole world.

He was someone she always respected.

He was someone she always loved.

She was sleeping in her bed,

Until one night he started visiting.

She was deep in her sleep.

She would be woken by touching.

He would come in and touch

In her bed, in surrounding darkness

He would rub her, kiss her.

He would grab her, abuse her.

She was sexually abused, alone, pained.

Nobody to turn to or help.

She didn’t know what to do.

She felt stuck, paralyzed, and broken.

He kept secrets, so did she.

Money and fear kept her quiet.

He paid for toys, books, clothing.

He hurt her body and mind.

She could get all the books.

Wear all the newest fashion styles,

She played with all the toys.

She got everything she asked for.

He didn’t want anyone to know,

Secrets he withheld from everyone possible.

He only told his little girl.

He didn’t care about her pain.

She carried his heavy secret alongside,

The secret weight thousands of pounds.

She couldn’t carry the secret anymore.

She couldn’t drop down from exhaustion.

He burdened her with him secret.

A secret he couldn’t have kept.

He would scare her into silence.

He would punch, choke, and slap.

She would cower, choke, and weep.

His hands were like sharp steal.

She would watch her skin swell.

She would wear marks and bruises.

He would make her body flinch.

One way or another, she’s silent.

He would hit her or touch.

He always stayed with her body.

She wanted to stop being strong.

To finally be able to drop,

She wanted to take a break,

She wanted to get some help.

They came on Saturday to help.

She was free, he was stopped.

They came to relieve her pain.

They came to help a child.

Purple Flower

She was a pretty purple flower.

Until he tore her silky petals.

He pulled off her wine leaves.

Then he took away her sun.

Finally he pulled out her roots.

He left her on the pavement.

She is bare, destroyed, and ugly.

People keep walking by not stopping.

Nobody wants to keep her anymore.

She is dried, ruined, and alone.