Poem
Hey everyone,
This is a poem that I wrote last night at like......12.30 last night!! Crazy I know, but after reading the poem I found yesterday, I found that it was amazing to get your feelings out, not just in a journal and by writing them plainly, but by messing with them and writing them in a poem. It's pretty crappy, because i'm shit at writing poems. But this is how I feel and yeah.....what do you think?
I awake in the morning,
Words fill my head,
"You're fat! You're hopeless!
You're worthless! You're dead!"
As I get out of bed,
The words get louder,
Harsher, scarier,
Yet i'm drawn to their power.
They seems so assuring,
Full of comfort and love,
I believe them, trust them,
I'll be free as a dove.
But what they don't tell me,
Is my path they intend,
On taking me down,
To it's scary end.
As I walk from my bed,
I head towards my foe.
Is it my friend? Is it my enemy?
Buggered if I know!
I look in the mirror,
And it's plain to see,
That my reflection in there,
Isn't the real me.
I try to look deep,
Into my cold, grey eyes,
But all I can see,
Is me wanting to fly.
Away from this torture,
Away from this pain,
Away from the horror,
That lives in my veins.
When around my friends,
My lifer gets harder,
I'm surrounded by food,
The fear that I harbour.
Fear fills my head,
That food on my plate,
It is what I despise,
It is what I hate.
I am not happy,
I just eat to hide,
What I am feeling,
My true feelings inside.
I start to feel guilty,
I start to feel ill,
I know I am doing this,
Of my own free will.
As I leave them behind,
The truth I don't tell,
That what i'm really doing,
Is putting myself through hell.
I don't understand,
Why this still hurts so much,
Not just mental, but physical,
It's so painful to touch.
As my fingers head down,
Down deep in my throat,
I know what i'm doing,
But I don't want to gloat.
My need to do this,
Is what you don't see,
If I don't do this,
I have no-where to flee.
The voices tell me,
I'm going to get fat.
I must get rid of this
If I want to be flat.
I do as they wish,
I just agree,
If I follow their will
Then I will be free.
I try to hide my pain,
I dry away my tears,
I try to shut my feelings
Away from my peers.
They need not know,
What truely goes on,
The voices, the hatred,
The pain, my con.
I am never alone,
I am never at rest,
But I will still try,
To do my best.
To fool you all,
Into believing i'm fine,
Telling you everything,
Is where I draw the line.
Hopefully, you will never know,
What truely goes on,
When I am alone and,
Everyone is gone.
Yet as much as it hurts,
And as much as I cry,
I don't want to let go,
Because bulimia is I.
This is a poem that I wrote last night at like......12.30 last night!! Crazy I know, but after reading the poem I found yesterday, I found that it was amazing to get your feelings out, not just in a journal and by writing them plainly, but by messing with them and writing them in a poem. It's pretty crappy, because i'm shit at writing poems. But this is how I feel and yeah.....what do you think?
I awake in the morning,
Words fill my head,
"You're fat! You're hopeless!
You're worthless! You're dead!"
As I get out of bed,
The words get louder,
Harsher, scarier,
Yet i'm drawn to their power.
They seems so assuring,
Full of comfort and love,
I believe them, trust them,
I'll be free as a dove.
But what they don't tell me,
Is my path they intend,
On taking me down,
To it's scary end.
As I walk from my bed,
I head towards my foe.
Is it my friend? Is it my enemy?
Buggered if I know!
I look in the mirror,
And it's plain to see,
That my reflection in there,
Isn't the real me.
I try to look deep,
Into my cold, grey eyes,
But all I can see,
Is me wanting to fly.
Away from this torture,
Away from this pain,
Away from the horror,
That lives in my veins.
When around my friends,
My lifer gets harder,
I'm surrounded by food,
The fear that I harbour.
Fear fills my head,
That food on my plate,
It is what I despise,
It is what I hate.
I am not happy,
I just eat to hide,
What I am feeling,
My true feelings inside.
I start to feel guilty,
I start to feel ill,
I know I am doing this,
Of my own free will.
As I leave them behind,
The truth I don't tell,
That what i'm really doing,
Is putting myself through hell.
I don't understand,
Why this still hurts so much,
Not just mental, but physical,
It's so painful to touch.
As my fingers head down,
Down deep in my throat,
I know what i'm doing,
But I don't want to gloat.
My need to do this,
Is what you don't see,
If I don't do this,
I have no-where to flee.
The voices tell me,
I'm going to get fat.
I must get rid of this
If I want to be flat.
I do as they wish,
I just agree,
If I follow their will
Then I will be free.
I try to hide my pain,
I dry away my tears,
I try to shut my feelings
Away from my peers.
They need not know,
What truely goes on,
The voices, the hatred,
The pain, my con.
I am never alone,
I am never at rest,
But I will still try,
To do my best.
To fool you all,
Into believing i'm fine,
Telling you everything,
Is where I draw the line.
Hopefully, you will never know,
What truely goes on,
When I am alone and,
Everyone is gone.
Yet as much as it hurts,
And as much as I cry,
I don't want to let go,
Because bulimia is I.