Anagram19
08-19-2011, 03:58 AM
This first poem is a type of poetry called dirty.pretty-- which uses punctuation to display emotions and feelings throughout the poem, I guess.
/she/'s {changed}, but /she/'s the }same{.
she's (((((fatter))))) now, //no//, ((plumper)), //no//, ~{pretty}~, ??beautiful??
::.shh,:: now, /she/ doesn't ''''deserve'''' these --words--
/push/ her && \pull\ her && say the $mean$ --words--
(((ugly)))
((((pathetic))))
/a/ *loser?
#poetic??#
some =creatures=
/her/ [lies]
**weird** ~features~
(they're) {just} #cries#
[[stop lying, stop lying]]
(we're) giving it )in(
(we're) giving it ^up^
(our) .blood. is /\/\spread\/\/ ::thin::
(we'll) +need+ (you) to << win. >>
This next poem-ish thing is just something I wrote last christmas.
it's those days again.
my parents pretend that it's normal for us to be having our seperate christmas days as i wonder what will happen. will we put on our masks and act like a happy/no/functional/no/..together/no family? or will we be split apart, soulmates cut in pieces by a bone handled knife, slivers of reality?
the world can never know. i pretend to be the happy, eating-disorderless daughter who definitely has nothing to worry about: i am clean of depression, nightmares don't scare away my wishes; hopes for suicide don't haunt my every thought. i am carefree, so shiny and smart and beautiful, and not thinking "yeah right" every second of it. i am normal. i am not a alien, i do not poke holes in my skin, girls are my friends; not my crushes, boys are weird but still cute in the end, i am not living a lie. i am a good little girl. no worries, no cares, i could die tomorrow and not have a want to drag anything down with me.
but these are the fake truths that they stick to me with glue and scotch tape, hoping that the nails and screws won't be needed. they tie my down to our gay and wonderful, rich and colorful, happy and not screwed up world. i won't dare to even let a thought slip out of escape. i do not know what this word means.
besides, it's not like i even have enough knowledge of these things to put their existence in even my dreams, correct?
when did we all stop being so lovely?
another poem-story thing that i wrote a few years ago, actually, wow-- when i weighed much less and was younger.
today it is this girls first day of the abc diet, the one they say makes you drop {at least} 10 pounds. and 10 pounds, 10 pounds is really all she needs about to hit her goal, but she wants to be weaker. no, she wants to be weak and strong.
in her world, weak and strong have become the same thing. strong enough to eat, weak enough for your body to forget that you're starving. they're synonyms, now, she tells you.
everyday, she looks at those recovery sites, the ones with pretty rooms and sad faces, and hopes to god that she'll never end up there. she's not even old enough for one of them, so maybe she won't be able to end up there, it won't be possible, even if she's starvingdyingunderweightemaciated.
she wants to be sick, but she doesn't want to be caught. it's sad.
one of the sites say the minimum age is twelve. what if she's still drowning in starvation in another year? she still wants to be strong and weak then, she will be, but she won'tbecaughtwon'tbecaughtwon'tbecaught.
she's lucky they haven't admitted her yet. if they did, she'd be called a fake. she's still at least 7 to 10 pounds away from not being fake anymore.
she doesn't care. this will make her stronger, weaker, prettier, thinner. she'll be thin, she'll be pretty, and she'll finally deserve her princessgirlprincess
she'll be strongweakstrong and you know it
more dirty pretty..
my fingers t,i,p,t,o,e their ~way~ down my \throat/
//tube// upon \\tube\\
#acid# against my {{[insides]}}
my ((meal)) comes ^u^p^
splash, splash, splash
&&!!my!! beautiful =bones= /finally/ show.
>>>don't<<< make }}MY{{ :m: all .o.v.e.r.a.g.a.i.n
:i:
:s:
:t:
:a:
:k:
:e:
:s:
another..
as
i look at myself in the mirror
at the scale
in the mirror
i think
and think, and think
and suddenly, i've fallen
but the enemy has lost
because, well
that first 88
turned into a 84
then, a 80
then a 77, and soon enough, a 70
and as my eyes flicker open
i drop into deep thought once again
because, well
food is still the enemy..
you can never be too thin..
right?
Sorry, if it's sort of a long post, I wanted to put all of it up at once, I guess.
Opinions?
/she/'s {changed}, but /she/'s the }same{.
she's (((((fatter))))) now, //no//, ((plumper)), //no//, ~{pretty}~, ??beautiful??
::.shh,:: now, /she/ doesn't ''''deserve'''' these --words--
/push/ her && \pull\ her && say the $mean$ --words--
(((ugly)))
((((pathetic))))
/a/ *loser?
#poetic??#
some =creatures=
/her/ [lies]
**weird** ~features~
(they're) {just} #cries#
[[stop lying, stop lying]]
(we're) giving it )in(
(we're) giving it ^up^
(our) .blood. is /\/\spread\/\/ ::thin::
(we'll) +need+ (you) to << win. >>
This next poem-ish thing is just something I wrote last christmas.
it's those days again.
my parents pretend that it's normal for us to be having our seperate christmas days as i wonder what will happen. will we put on our masks and act like a happy/no/functional/no/..together/no family? or will we be split apart, soulmates cut in pieces by a bone handled knife, slivers of reality?
the world can never know. i pretend to be the happy, eating-disorderless daughter who definitely has nothing to worry about: i am clean of depression, nightmares don't scare away my wishes; hopes for suicide don't haunt my every thought. i am carefree, so shiny and smart and beautiful, and not thinking "yeah right" every second of it. i am normal. i am not a alien, i do not poke holes in my skin, girls are my friends; not my crushes, boys are weird but still cute in the end, i am not living a lie. i am a good little girl. no worries, no cares, i could die tomorrow and not have a want to drag anything down with me.
but these are the fake truths that they stick to me with glue and scotch tape, hoping that the nails and screws won't be needed. they tie my down to our gay and wonderful, rich and colorful, happy and not screwed up world. i won't dare to even let a thought slip out of escape. i do not know what this word means.
besides, it's not like i even have enough knowledge of these things to put their existence in even my dreams, correct?
when did we all stop being so lovely?
another poem-story thing that i wrote a few years ago, actually, wow-- when i weighed much less and was younger.
today it is this girls first day of the abc diet, the one they say makes you drop {at least} 10 pounds. and 10 pounds, 10 pounds is really all she needs about to hit her goal, but she wants to be weaker. no, she wants to be weak and strong.
in her world, weak and strong have become the same thing. strong enough to eat, weak enough for your body to forget that you're starving. they're synonyms, now, she tells you.
everyday, she looks at those recovery sites, the ones with pretty rooms and sad faces, and hopes to god that she'll never end up there. she's not even old enough for one of them, so maybe she won't be able to end up there, it won't be possible, even if she's starvingdyingunderweightemaciated.
she wants to be sick, but she doesn't want to be caught. it's sad.
one of the sites say the minimum age is twelve. what if she's still drowning in starvation in another year? she still wants to be strong and weak then, she will be, but she won'tbecaughtwon'tbecaughtwon'tbecaught.
she's lucky they haven't admitted her yet. if they did, she'd be called a fake. she's still at least 7 to 10 pounds away from not being fake anymore.
she doesn't care. this will make her stronger, weaker, prettier, thinner. she'll be thin, she'll be pretty, and she'll finally deserve her princessgirlprincess
she'll be strongweakstrong and you know it
more dirty pretty..
my fingers t,i,p,t,o,e their ~way~ down my \throat/
//tube// upon \\tube\\
#acid# against my {{[insides]}}
my ((meal)) comes ^u^p^
splash, splash, splash
&&!!my!! beautiful =bones= /finally/ show.
>>>don't<<< make }}MY{{ :m: all .o.v.e.r.a.g.a.i.n
:i:
:s:
:t:
:a:
:k:
:e:
:s:
another..
as
i look at myself in the mirror
at the scale
in the mirror
i think
and think, and think
and suddenly, i've fallen
but the enemy has lost
because, well
that first 88
turned into a 84
then, a 80
then a 77, and soon enough, a 70
and as my eyes flicker open
i drop into deep thought once again
because, well
food is still the enemy..
you can never be too thin..
right?
Sorry, if it's sort of a long post, I wanted to put all of it up at once, I guess.
Opinions?