Scholastics 2014 Honorbale Mention
Honey colored hair decorates the slick pages of this burnt out magazine
Images of atmospheric eyes stare through the lens in
hollowed out expressions of false confidence.
Blooming lips are bitten and kissed
smirking and twisting,
serpents hiding the truth behind the washed out lies.
Incandescent bird wings are crushed behind
corrupted views on how
women should appear.
Empty bodies contort into skeletons of what they used to be
while the entity pushes through the arduous cries of
an empty stomach searching for something more.
Tainted in paint
and covered in thick inky lines,
eyes are defined
by shape and color
instead of the life hiding behind the blithe light.
15 pounds underweight
and so full of hate for
what the world wants us girls to look like.
I sit in this chair as the bones of my wrist
slice through my scarred skin
and I wonder if there is anything more than this.
My ribs shift
as my body begins to drift
and I can't keep a coherent thought in my head
because even this bed
makes my mind spin
and I swoon
searching
and hoping that soon
I can want something more than just a little more food.
Starving myself to be oh too thin
because that's how they've trained us to be.
In order to be beautiful you must be a skeletal
and even though your stomach is empty and you can't seem to find what this is all for,
even though inside you have everything to hide
the mages of what they want us to be keep appearing in your haunted dreams
as these bones push through papery skin.
Face washed in too tan pigment
and carmine blush,
there used to be such a rush
when a meal was skipped and I would think
Gods, in just a few short weeks I can be on the brink
of finally being,
of, gods, finally being
beautiful.
I am no larger than the skeletons in my closest
and even then they have deposits of some sort of flesh
they are far more gorgeous than I will ever be.
Their decaying flesh
is almost as fresh as the day they buried them in their coffins 10 feet under
because the chemicals on their face
that hide in the traced lines of their make-up
have kept them looking oh so wonderful in their close-ups.
And my head spins and my demons win
because all I want is something to eat
but I can't because then that would mean that I would have to beat
myself into a pile of enervated muscles and broken down tendons
because there is so way to lose all this weight
but to starve and to work
and to starve and to work
and to wait and hope
that the pounds will just melt off and that
my flesh won't hang so damn tight
to this withered frame.
My stomach seizes and the ceiling freezes
while clouds swirl around the room.
I can't find what I came here to discover
and hunger is like a tormenting lover
leaving me satisfied but oh so shattered.
They say that there's beauty in being broken
but I see no flowers pushing through the cracks in the cement
and there is nothing in the closest anymore
except for the skeletons and monsters that have come back in.
There is nothing for me but ribs and femurs
and I used to be such a dreamer.
But then again, that was when I was 13.
I used to be 113 pounds
and when I grew I really had no clue
that 130 was way to heavy.
Society wants us to be
little pixies
little eleven year-old boy bodies
that we were never meant to posses.
And I guess
one day maybe then they'll finally say
That this is enough!
But until the day that little 13 year old girls
can look in the mirror and actually see what is reflected
instead of the shadow of fictional faults
until that day
all I can say
is that these skeletons are all that I have left.
Images of atmospheric eyes stare through the lens in
hollowed out expressions of false confidence.
Blooming lips are bitten and kissed
smirking and twisting,
serpents hiding the truth behind the washed out lies.
Incandescent bird wings are crushed behind
corrupted views on how
women should appear.
Empty bodies contort into skeletons of what they used to be
while the entity pushes through the arduous cries of
an empty stomach searching for something more.
Tainted in paint
and covered in thick inky lines,
eyes are defined
by shape and color
instead of the life hiding behind the blithe light.
15 pounds underweight
and so full of hate for
what the world wants us girls to look like.
I sit in this chair as the bones of my wrist
slice through my scarred skin
and I wonder if there is anything more than this.
My ribs shift
as my body begins to drift
and I can't keep a coherent thought in my head
because even this bed
makes my mind spin
and I swoon
searching
and hoping that soon
I can want something more than just a little more food.
Starving myself to be oh too thin
because that's how they've trained us to be.
In order to be beautiful you must be a skeletal
and even though your stomach is empty and you can't seem to find what this is all for,
even though inside you have everything to hide
the mages of what they want us to be keep appearing in your haunted dreams
as these bones push through papery skin.
Face washed in too tan pigment
and carmine blush,
there used to be such a rush
when a meal was skipped and I would think
Gods, in just a few short weeks I can be on the brink
of finally being,
of, gods, finally being
beautiful.
I am no larger than the skeletons in my closest
and even then they have deposits of some sort of flesh
they are far more gorgeous than I will ever be.
Their decaying flesh
is almost as fresh as the day they buried them in their coffins 10 feet under
because the chemicals on their face
that hide in the traced lines of their make-up
have kept them looking oh so wonderful in their close-ups.
And my head spins and my demons win
because all I want is something to eat
but I can't because then that would mean that I would have to beat
myself into a pile of enervated muscles and broken down tendons
because there is so way to lose all this weight
but to starve and to work
and to starve and to work
and to wait and hope
that the pounds will just melt off and that
my flesh won't hang so damn tight
to this withered frame.
My stomach seizes and the ceiling freezes
while clouds swirl around the room.
I can't find what I came here to discover
and hunger is like a tormenting lover
leaving me satisfied but oh so shattered.
They say that there's beauty in being broken
but I see no flowers pushing through the cracks in the cement
and there is nothing in the closest anymore
except for the skeletons and monsters that have come back in.
There is nothing for me but ribs and femurs
and I used to be such a dreamer.
But then again, that was when I was 13.
I used to be 113 pounds
and when I grew I really had no clue
that 130 was way to heavy.
Society wants us to be
little pixies
little eleven year-old boy bodies
that we were never meant to posses.
And I guess
one day maybe then they'll finally say
That this is enough!
But until the day that little 13 year old girls
can look in the mirror and actually see what is reflected
instead of the shadow of fictional faults
until that day
all I can say
is that these skeletons are all that I have left.