Writing

Aching

I am
afraid.
I can see the future and it hurts me,
melts my resolve. I am
Wasting my days. I want to break away from all of this
self-hatred mutilation deprivation I want to
LOVE myself, I want to let my soul settle but
I can’t.
Twist my arms someone please.
Twist my arms tell me stop tell me believe.
My bones brittle breaking my heart stammering in my chest
eyes dark, hopeless
teeth rotten, splintered, pulled from the nerve and
death, tiny and frail and weightless
crying out for forgiveness.

But you see
I am not afraid I am aching.
I will not stop fighting for this, for myself, for the sake of the fight.
I will not stop lying back every day, every morning
the scale the mirror I can see my
still hidden beauty and I can feel the excitment in my soul.
I will reach
constant perfection. I will count down the days and see, here.
Here, I can see so clearly
I can see the dirt and filth falling away from me.
The numbers written inside my wrists,
they control my breathing.

But now
I am afraid.
My body fighting against me,
disgust growing in my stomach
growing in my mind. I want to
run through the dark and never stop,
I want nothing to touch my lips but
lipstick and water and
dietdiet cola.
I want to sit in my head and say:
'Yes I am
Beautiful.'
I want to hold the hand of my soul
My perfect friend my
Guide and confidante. Take my
Choices away. Take away my
Faults.

August 30, 2006

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