my mind can’t understand how my heart can feel so much pain but feel nothing at all / my heart can’t understand how my mind can make my whole body want to quit / all the heart wants is to keep me alive and it fights for me / but / i don’t understand why the universe has the funniest way of torturing me when I crave peace the most / it’s as if i am drowning fighting death on the bottom of the ocean but all you see are coral sunsets and calm waters while you breath perfect salty air / you don’t see me / you’re blessed with beautiful eyes but they are blind
it’s the one thing that makes even the most esteemed people shake like autumn leaves, ready to crumble
my bar is as high as the airplane in the sky i’d love to take to get away from myself
and if i’m not doing flips and leaps higher than it, i’d rather sink deep into an ocean full of all the things i do not want
i can do better.
i can always do better.
but what happens when better is never enough?
i fly to the moon, but all i see is that i didn’t explore the whole galaxy
and that’s all you see, too.
every time your words pierce my fragile mind, i find myself six years old again. staring at my thighs and wondering why they can’t look like yours
why i can’t be what you want
you have a funny way of pushing me away, then dragging me back into your twisted games, your crooked lies. i never wanted to see that the most lethal danger to my peace has been you
but yet again, i am taken back to when i am nine years old
and you don’t allow me an ice cream cone
not really a big deal, except i watch my friends eat guiltlessly as i sit staring at my thighs wishing i could burn them away
and now i think to myself, it’s always been the same with you.
because now i am thirteen years old and i step on that ruthless black pit every morning like clockwork
the digits burn into my mind, as i cry because another tenth of a pound is going to make me lose you
but i never had you, did i? i was always asking for things you couldn’t give
how selfish of me
unconditional love is too much to ask
and now, six years later and i find myself hunched over in the bathroom, doors locked, eyes watery, red scratches on my thighs
my finger has found a home in my throat and i think about how i could never find a home in you, and never will.
i am told to overcome what is happening
but how do i heal from the pain of what isn’t?
my whole life,you’ve wanted me smaller
my ambition is too much
my thighs are too much
my brain is too much
you try and try to shrink me
but i refuse to get in your box
i can only imagine how much you hated that i made you heavy
you carried me those nine months
but i’ll carry this demon a lifetime
-i’m sorry, mom
guilt suffocates me like cellophane
each layer clinging tightly to my body
one for each year of heartbreak
she says her love wraps around my being
what she doesn’t know is
it fights so hard to break through the barrier she has built
it pulses against me
unable to penetrate the 19 layers of pain she has provided
and through tears
“you know i love you, right?”
despite all her cruel words
she expects me to know this
to wholeheartedly embrace it
i can see it,
but i cannot feel it
for guilt and shame overwhelm my senses
and suddenly i am drowning in my memories
admitting to a love i do not feel
wrapped in this godforsaken cellophane,
a gift from my mother
i am bursting with emotion, yet empty
wrapped so tightly
desperate for love
i walk around suffocating
desperate to feel
something she cannot provide
—i know you did your best, mom
at one year old, i giggled and toddled around,
and at 5 years old, i began to understand.
at 6 years old, i proclaimed my need to lose weight off of my thighs.
time came and went, but the message remained the same.
as other mothers passed down a love of baking or hiking to their daughters, my mother held my hand and walked me down a self-destructive path.
at 14 years old, i began counting calories.
at 17 years old, i found my finger down my throat and lines on my wrist.
at 18 years old, i crumbled.
& at 19 years old, i learned how to walk away.
how to run away.
escaping the lies that had been fed to me along with a 900 calorie diet.
i learned that strong is all that matters.
i learned that words said to try to shrink my thighs and my hips can be silenced by the fortitude of my own thoughts.
most importantly, i decided that
this ends with me
when I have daughters of my own, i will pass down a love of running, not because it will make their bodies thin like bending branches, but because it will make them strong.
i will show them the wonders of writing and emptying out every nook and cranny of their brains.
i will expose them to different cultures, exploring new food, excited by the flavors and not trembling because of the calories
i will show them how to love themselves, and hold their hands when they do not.
i will never comment on their bodies,
only their brains, their hearts, their spirits
above all else, I will love unconditionally
this ends with me
a moment on your lips,
a lifetime on your hips
don’t run from your self-loathing,
run from the calories
but never run to me.
thighs, tummy, arms
smaller, flatter, stronger
eat this, not that
tell me about your new diet,
but keep quiet about your dreams
a body is made to be skinny,
why did i find your finger down your throat
attached to an arm with marks made out of anguish
how could you do this to me?
where did i go wrong?
—words from my mother