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The Hunger

The Hunger

My clothes don’t fit me anymore, and I don’t look the same. When I look at my reflection all I feel is utter shame.

When I was thin I owned the world. Starving hurt and purging damaged me. It was worth it when I saw what I had come to be.

Hot air of the spring ruffles through my hair that used to be so long. I cut it off while manic, while everything I did was wrong.

Come back to me, O memory of ribs and bones of hips. Come back to me, O hunger pangs and vomit on my lips.

They tell me it’s so wonderful that it all has come to this end, but they don’t know that those diseases were my true and only friends.

Be Real

Naked faced for sleep alone

Still fearing the pillow will talk

About how I really look.

Donning masks before pants

Keeping up the charade

In this social masquerade.

Asking same questions

Giving same answers,

How’s it hanging?

Nothing much how about you?

Does anybody else get tired of it?

Does anybody else wish the world

Was ready for real people?

Who answered honestly

When asked about their day.

Yearned to pour to whomever may inquire

Yet reigned myself back for fear of smothering,

Few people are ready for the torrent of others.

Everybody is lonely

Everybody friendless,

Not getting along with disguises

How could we without?

I fail another attempt to write myself away

Drawing ink from my soul until the well runs dry,

More proof that paper isn’t ready for some stories.

Natural looking masks met with

“Are you sick?”

The answer is yes but I won’t say so

I’ll just say, “Fine thanks.”

Though it doesn’t make sense,

Nobody will say so,

For the response is on the list

Of accepted things to say.

Be real

Be fully you and fully new

Wake up and shower in paint thinner

Let your colour shine

Let the sun mature the hues

And heal every bruise.

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