Warning: the following piece contains content about an eating disorder which may be triggering for some.
These poems were written while I was admitted at a mental hospital, and poetry was my outlet for everything going on in my head. Each of these were written in order: the first poem was the first one I wrote while I was there, and the last was the final poem I wrote before I was discharged. The purpose of this is to show the raw emotion of everything that went on during my lowest point, unedited and untouched.
This feels like
city lights, apple pie
baked just right
I’m here and I’m ready
to take flight
It isn’t for the weak
but that's what we are
our poor bleeding hearts
our own unique scar
the warmth closes in
as my blue fingers write
my papers are scattered
recover -
I might
I smile, I frown
I’m up and I’m down
I’m flying a kite
I get pulled off the ground
I’m up in the sky
through clouds I fly
cold stings my cheeks
and I wonder why
why do I go
I’m bruised and it shows
Is my future bright?
right now, I don’t know
trigger warning - eating disorder
ed wants chicken legs.
ed wants to be skin and bones.
ed loves these.
he revels in them,
pursues them,
being “too skinny” is the best compliment. In fact,
these insults become goals.
He repeats them,
and thinks,
and obsesses,
and acts,
until I have my own pair of
chicken legs.
pancakes for dinner
but ed tells me no
fred brings me suffering
ted brings the low
but now I have warmth
and I bury the cold
Jen would be proud
my parents I’ve told
that I see a horizon
a sun that holds hope
I’ve hiked up a hill
and now’s the downslope
walls are opening
cheeks ache from my smile my laughter rings strong and still all the while my insides are cold
but outside is warm
I’m told to get worse but right now I’m torn I’m not used to this taste it’s sweet, almost tart but bitter is gone
recover -
I start.
These poems were written while I was admitted at a mental hospital, and poetry was my outlet for everything going on in my head. Each of these were written in order: the first poem was the first one I wrote while I was there, and the last was the final poem I wrote before I was discharged. The purpose of this is to show the raw emotion of everything that went on during my lowest point, unedited and untouched.
This feels like
city lights, apple pie
baked just right
I’m here and I’m ready
to take flight
It isn’t for the weak
but that's what we are
our poor bleeding hearts
our own unique scar
the warmth closes in
as my blue fingers write
my papers are scattered
recover -
I might
I smile, I frown
I’m up and I’m down
I’m flying a kite
I get pulled off the ground
I’m up in the sky
through clouds I fly
cold stings my cheeks
and I wonder why
why do I go
I’m bruised and it shows
Is my future bright?
right now, I don’t know
trigger warning - eating disorder
ed wants chicken legs.
ed wants to be skin and bones.
ed loves these.
he revels in them,
pursues them,
being “too skinny” is the best compliment. In fact,
these insults become goals.
He repeats them,
and thinks,
and obsesses,
and acts,
until I have my own pair of
chicken legs.
pancakes for dinner
but ed tells me no
fred brings me suffering
ted brings the low
but now I have warmth
and I bury the cold
Jen would be proud
my parents I’ve told
that I see a horizon
a sun that holds hope
I’ve hiked up a hill
and now’s the downslope
walls are opening
cheeks ache from my smile my laughter rings strong and still all the while my insides are cold
but outside is warm
I’m told to get worse but right now I’m torn I’m not used to this taste it’s sweet, almost tart but bitter is gone
recover -
I start.
