EAT“EAT” is written on the board in capitals, and it’s been three months. Five skinny, nervous teenagers surround you and one plump psychologist lectures orchestrally. You’re not quite sure if this class is voluntary, but you aren’t brave enough to ask. You want to leave overwhelmingly, but you’re shy.EAT by EvangeleneClaire
A girl stands up. Her name is Mindy and she weighs 50kg. You think the word fatass uncontrollably. She was on a drip and a feeding tube for a week and shows us photos of when she was 37kgs, as though to justify herself. She claims to have recovered, and she looks at you with contempt. You have not recovered. You will not recover. You are the disordered and the sick, the strange. You stave because you’re scared and you’re scared because you starve.
She sits down. You stand up. You have nothing to say, again. Instead you look at them all individually, Alison who doesn’t eat because she was raped and wants to get ugly so it doesn
LateThey dove into the waterLate by EvangeleneClaire
and felt they were heroes
too strong and bold to fail
Ready for the newspaper later
Hold my handHold my hand. My thumb, my pinkie, my index, ring and middle fingers. My palm. My knuckles. The 29 major and minor bones, 29 major joints, 123 ligaments, 34 muscles, 48 nerves and 30 arteries.Hold my hand by EvangeleneClaire
Hold my hand,( because I'm not afraid). Because I'm brave enough for you. Because I'm ready to love you, to be loved by you. I'm so strange and fragile and blistered by myself, so weathered and disorganised and inert.
And you're such a fighter, you're so believable and real and solid, (you're a fact). You exist and it shocks me sometimes, it fixes me sometimes that you're possible. I was put together the wrong way but I don't feel tangled with you, I feel straighter with you, less complicated with you. Simple enough to be happy again, to feel real again. (To be safe). To hold, and be held. To be fixed.
Hold me, hold my hand.
You're a lover, a liver, a learner, a listener. A hexagon of emotion and hater of yourself. Anxious, afraid, jealous. (But perfect. Always perfect.)
Please don't leave. Pleas
be betterhate is the only emotion peoplebe better by LailatAlQadr
take seriously anymore.
when she looks in the
mirror and is scared of everything
in that nakedness, with a faltering
glance behind; she feels society's
InertiaSometimes, I feel so very sorry forInertia by HoldTheNoise
the letters that I write.
Born onto a blank page and
trapped there all their lives.
No new sites to see, no unfamiliar faces to meet;
standing in a lonely row
just to express my thoughts as words,
and yet, completely unable to express their own.
They lie paralyzed in their birthplace
lacking the ability to grow and learn.
Immovable to change for the rest of their lives.
And sometimes, I wonder to myself,
why I choose to be the same.
Lottie's songDog toes like ash budsLottie's song by drbellairs
On a winter twig in a wood.
She cries for the cat.