The hunted

Fickle friend, disguised in sheeps clothing, how sweet the idea of you.
A friend, the basis of reality outside my head. Here and now I stand next to you, attached to the idea of you, the idea of being accepted, loved, wanted. Here you are, so many faces, you embody so many souls and so many ideas I once had. Years ago, hopes that died with each one of you. More time wasted, more doses of reality.

I never learn, I keep searching . I hate myself more each time I fail to see the repetition in your moves.

Fickle friend, when will you see beyond your wants, your less than wholesome desires. We are all animals, we share only the likeness of human beings. We hunt for the things we need. We take to survive, we tear flesh from bone and soul from body.

Its tiring isnt it, hunting and being hunted, tearing and being torn. One day I hope that you too will become someones prey, dashing frantically when its already too late. Your hope is gone, ravaged by the one who took without asking. Its true you never find out what you have till its gone, and my belief in love is such as this, hanging precariously from your mouth.

Sept 14, 2005

Wow, the last week has been crazy and here I am cut up and unable to relax. I am still having my body react all the time. I talked to my therapist on Monday on the phone but it didnt help. My weight has stabilized for a little over a month now much to my dismay. What is wrong with me that I cant even starve right. I am so weak. Everything has become so hard this past week. I cant function, I cant even talk to my best friend without using every ounce of energy I have. Its like reliving my past, I feel so disconnected, all I can do is be fake. I am torn because all I can do is talk to my therapist because it is the only place I can be real and honest but I just want to disappear, self-destruct, away from everything and everyone.

Sept, 8th 2005

Anxiety, I hate it. The last three weeks have been terror stricken. Mom was in the hospital for 8 days, question, wondering if death was waiting. Now therapy with my therapist....My body is still reacting. Stiff, tense muscles, restricted breathing, self-loathing, disappointment, and disgust. All I can do is hate myself for being like this, my body. The whole spirituality/sexuality is just too much for me to handle. Even just writing this my body is reacting. I just want to run, somewhere that I can be someone else, somewhere that my authenticity is not required.

2005

The sky opens into a gaping canyon of light
Lifted by a hope greater than gravity I hang on whatever cloud hovers lowest.
My hands seize from the strain, half laughing, half crying
I realize, its too much hope and not enough grace.
The repetition of this life evolves and yet never changes
A new goal, a new demon to carry me back down.
So close I can see it yet it can never be reached.
Is God this cruel or is Satan this clever?
Someone hears my thoughts and preys on my weakness.
It is May 25, 2005. Here I am almost reaching, yet bound by a past I cant leave behind.
The anorexia is yet again in my life. I have lost a little over 30 Ibs since January
Now though people seem to notice, comment, stare asking for my secret to success.
Most tell me how good I look, close friends, and family and my therapist dont agree. But deep down I know they think the same, they just dont agree with how I am doing it(losing weight)
I wonder, can I stop if I get too thin, too thin? AlthoughI feel a little more settled in my body I wont ever really be ok till I shed this skin and transcend to a higher place.

Bread Crumbs

What is this violent war I fight, what is this fight I am fighting for
Is this a noble cause or just my wishful thinking in action
If I cant live for me, what is there to live for, If I cant choose to live, arent I already dying?
In these turbulent winds, my wings collapse
In this bitter cold my heart is frozen solid.
Theres so much to say and no one to talk to, theres so much to see but no one to share
On the outside Im all put together, on the inside Im just as messy as you
This isolation has gotten me thinking that being alone is not all that bad
But when in the dark my arms are reaching, for someone to hold me, to keep my feet on the ground
Sometimes I think the night terrors might take me, swallow me whole and spit me out
make a mess of my image, blur the lines, separate me dark from light
My hearts all a flutter and I cant seem to breathe
and Im still reeling from the last few years.
Secretly Im hiding from my own dirty shame and yet somehow Im searching for a hand to hold
Like that rabbit hole, Im left to follow
A demons plot to pull me down
Into a world of triks and trips, of hidden passages to another realm
I peek through my hands and tip toe around
Its the same nightmare Ive lived 1000 times
Time here is precious and fear travels fast, pictures whisper strangely arming their frames
Scars here are lasting longer than knives
and bruises are pooling atop the skin
Were mortals mere mortals, claiming the sky
like Gods claim lives, like cupid pierces souls
Yes here I am an island unto myself
Washed by the sea's ebbing tide
Baptized by the salty serpent like waves wearing down my edges one grain at a time
I question daily my weakening grasp, I hate my own will to do whats right
Im bound by my honor that keeps me true, but I harbor angry thoughts just the same as you
Listen to the words that arent yet escaping
Feel the scars that wont be undone
Look past my pathetic shadow and see for yourself that I cant stand
Follow my bread crumbs and see that theyre stale
Cause this girl is long gone and the trail has long ago gone cold
This girl is still playing with dolls, though her face is now too old
Im stuck in a basket not quite alive, Im aching for someone to strengthen my grip
Im turning and yearning for someone to hold me, while I try desperately to push them away
I need someone to fight against, someone to kick me when Im already down
My hands are so needy and my eyes so hard
Like a weathered addict, too old in the face
Ive been used and controlled
traded and freed
One part escaped and the other there died
The past blows past me unconvincingly hidden
And the leaves trickle down masking the secret trail.