without a pulse

only seeds were left

her white-washed cheeks

and those protruding bones.

just the little girl

next door in the window

pounding stained glass

with the hurry of heartbeat

now, there are only echoes of words

don’t look through the curtains

stay in the back alley

skipping over puddles,

smoke fills the house

abandoned and broken –

without a pulse.

disposal

old china cup eyes

she comes with a history
 book inside her palms
her name is crossed out-
a chicken scratch of rage
of ink blots
symptoms and side effects
now ring true
and the doctors say
depression
bulimia
borderline and she finds the letters
of her names between new refills for medications
all her rough drafts are
 mangled within colourless skin
carried over her shoulder
beyond this
is a numbness betraying darkness
and smiling at sunlight with rotting teeth.

familiar strangers

This room is sanitized with

psychiatrists and nurse therapists

Sad teenagers and their

parents sit like broken glass dolls.

Opening binders

flipping pages and greeting one another

with a friendly smile, with a

how are you

with uncomfortable small talk

There is Purple and blue silence

packed in the bags under my eyes

I let the tears on my cheek dry as you

push the box of kleenex across the table

snapshots

Bulimia’s hair is tangled

and screaming

like a six year old

who wont take no

for an answer

Lips coated in

sugar and shame

and teeth bleached by the

crawling stomach acid.

her body hides

behind hoodies

long sleeves, cardigans

sweats and

skinny jeans

she has been here

since the very beginning

held my hand as i

crossed the street

to the corner store

wiped the tears

from my cheeks

she stays by my side

a childhood friend

that never went away

with every calorie missed

every dinner I skipped

is a pat on the back

a job well done

that only caused

more pain to try

to diminish.   

How social anxiety affects its victim

The inner dialogue

I heard my name. Or was it my name? They looked over at me… that must mean they are talking about me. They looked over at me and then laughed. They hate me, they must hate me. Oh god, what have I done wrong this time? Why is everyone staring at me… I probably look really gross today. Sit in the very back of the classroom. Hide behind the tall kid so that the teacher doesn’t notice you sitting at the very back. Don’t call on me. Don’t call on me. Don’t call on me. Oh god please don’t call on me. Phew, she didn’t. Can I stop shaking now please? Nope. Okay, what was the teachers name again? Alright, just slowly practice saying her name in your head so that it doesn’t sound weird coming out of your mouth. I hope my voice doesn’t crack. Please don’t ask me a question. Please don’t ask me a question. This class has too many people in it. Too many loud talking, gossip sharing, rumour spreading people. Is my face red? I can feel the heat of fire on my cheeks. They are starring. Why is everyone starring. The bell rings for class change. Another classroom, enter another doorway. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not another class presentation. I can’t get up there. Their eyes are glued to mine. I can feel the vomit making its way up to my mouth. Tears of panic. Tears of fear. Tears of everything streaming down my face.