there’s a solid mass of food sitting in the pit of my stomach
My ears are ringing like windchimes.
i don’t seem to know my limits
cuz i’ve pushed these lines of “healthy” so far out of bounds a few too many times
i do it so often now that i tend to not realize when i’m in it.
the bile leaves my throat raw and numb,
colors the water pale brown,
leaves my mouth sore and glum.
my body’s tired from retching over the cold, porcelain toilet seat.
oftentimes i forget what it’s like not feeling as though
I’m some rotting piece of meat.
I don’t remember what it’s like to not put on this show;
What’s it like to not be playing pretend?
How can I flip this switch and to start to make some amends?
chipped pink polish on my toes,
skin fading back to white from my bronzed and golden tan.
this what what remains of my week in August.
ive said it so many times before.
it’s practically my mantra.
i dont know who i am
i dont know where im going
i dont know where i’ll go
i dont know what exactly i want
all i have are vague ideas,
and jumbled thoughts.
i dont even know what to write,
all i know is . . .
nine months have passed.
here he is lying in my bed again,
lying through his teeth again
“i missed us being friends”
he says as i slide his half hard cock down the back of my throat.
my arms and body shook with the anticipation
with “wow isn’t this just weird?”
my lips wrap around him slowly
up and down up and down up and down.
i take him back until i hit the base
where pubes tickle at my nose
he’s lost somewhere down my throat,
while what i really want –
the person who i want to be –
is lost somewhere on my floor;
cushioned by my bra.
10 minutes have passed.
he’s finished and i’ve swallowed.
“Do I say thank you?”
I felt creative. I read these articles (this one and this one) and it got me thinking about how i haven’t ever really written a graphic poem before. and i wanted to experiment with not only doing that, but also with playing around with different types of formatting. so here’s my first attempt. it’s probably not fantastic haha but like most all of my poems i have select bits that i really like. i want to do more with embracing my experience as a woman and a teenage girl and being a sexual being and being a fragile one at the same time. so here’s my first go at trying to accomplish that.
My sweet tooth is starting to ache;
For cute little “I miss you”‘s or a gentle “how was your day?”
I’m getting tired of these artificial sweeteners.
All they leave is a bitter taste on my tongue when all is said and done.