TheCourtRose

Guilt washed her hands in pomegranate- seeds and ligaments and clots She left it in the soap dispenser I washed my hands last night and could only think of blood

there is a lonely, blue-eyed boy standing in the concrete jungle wanting too much, heart swelling his chest a gentle blue-beating heart, like his eyes escaping, cascading down, overflowing to the concrete soaking the jungle floor flooding the world with light and heart and sound lonely, perhaps but not alone

I must confess, I used to be anorexic. I figured now would be a good time to just lay that out on the table. Being a hiccup away from 25 is bringing a lot of things to light. I've never shared this in such an open way, but today seems like a good day. Between the age of 13 and 14 I barely ate anything at all and exercised sometimes over 6 hours a day. Unfortunately, this unprecedented surge of "self control" and "dedication" was met with more praise than alarm. I am the perfect storm of components that make up a person who develops this disorder. Some of those components are dark and personal; I won't be sharing those here. However, I did want to talk about expanding. Ironic, eh? Someone who once dedicated herself so completely to disappearing now wants to discuss actually taking up space in the universe. Lately, I've been desperate to feel some growth- legitimately growing up, with all the attendant responsibilities and heartaches thereto. My poem Ra

My teeth are dust. I worry and grind, chomp and chew. My dreams are storm tossed seas. Cool white limbs circle my neck, pull me down- a siren's caress. Bleeding gums stain the sheets. My empty mouth full of silent crying. At night, in my own bed, there is no way to save a drowning man. They will find my cool dead flesh wrapped in sweaty sheets- lungs full of brine.