Maybe I should skip breakfast, and lunch, and dinner today…I mean I’m hungry of course, but I can’t see my rib cage as well anymore. I used to think I looked great, I was confident, not too confident but I wasn’t turning my face away from the mirror, I looked myself straight in the eye and I was okay with what stared back at me….until my best friend who I thought was perfect started complaining that she was fat. Then suddenly everything stopped, that’s fat? That’s what fat looks like? Oh god if that’s what fat looks like I’m in trouble. I started to feel myself shrink away, feeling like I wasn’t worthy enough to occupy the space around me. Like the size of my waist was more important than my SAT scores, I became obsessed with society’s idea of perfection. I looked people in the eye to see if they looked at me with as much disappointment as I did looking at myself in the mirror everyday. I could no longer hold eye contact with myself for more than five seconds without turning away and having the grumbling of my stomach drown out the thoughts in my head that told me that skinny is better. That no one would ever love me unless my collarbones stuck out like knives, sharpened to protect myself from those who lie and tell me I look great that day. What do you mean I look great? I ate a banana and if I don’t go to the bathroom and throw it up I think I might die, I look great? My eyes are dead from the countless nights spent staring at other girls on a screen telling me what I needed to look like. And I know if I keep going like this I’ll drive myself to ruin, but dead girls are skinnier.



6 word stories

Your love was a fucking lie

I am not what you think

I wish I wasn’t like this

It is so inconvenient to care

My race is not my character

Looks as shitty as my personality

When will I see you again?

Everything good always gets messed up

Time keeps ticking, I stand still

The world does not pity anyone

You didn’t deserve to take it.


Garden Girl

For all the sprouts shriveled up on cold december mornings, you are not as worthless as you feel. Your evasiveness to warmth comes from your roots dug deep in your self loathing, never knowing anything but sorrow. Despite what you believe you don’t have to shrivel like this, you are allowed to grow. There is an escape from this labyrinth of desolation, although it is seemingly impossible to view yourself as anything but collateral damage. So kind as to let others take what they did not deserve and grow above you, but darling they are not above you. Little sprout you are a flower in bloom, and one day I hope you will come to see your own beauty as much as I do.


The Holidays


Hot chocolate and spiked punch

lonely laughter passed through echoing church corridors

sad smiles placing mistletoe over graves  

roasting cold hearts over fireplaces


a woman walks around with the glow of a vacancy sign in her eyes

“They all left me.” she says. “All I have is the luggage. It’s getting heavy in my mind.”

attending parties full of empty people

wool sweaters and thunderstorms

popping champagne and popping pills


feeling everything or nothing at all

t.v. specials and turkey dinners

music that plays softly and people that talk too loudly

going to shows and putting on shows

wearing happiness like a mask, a smile plastered for drunken family photos


wallets as fat as your laughing uncles stomach

being grateful for all you have and buying as much as you can

children crying on christmas morning about not getting what they want

the coal may not be in their stockings but it’s in their hearts


ice skate blades and chills running down your spine

record players spinning and parents fighting

the wind howls all through the night

trees scraping against bedroom windows

children scraping their knees


growing body counts and holiday cheer

looks like it’s that time of year