Note: This is written in response to an episode of the classic family friendly comedy, “Full House”. In it one of the main character’s DJ starts to stop eating and obsessing over her weight. The show tries to say this is all because she wants to look good in a bathing suit for an upcoming pool party, but I doubt that is the only reason. Anyway, DJ passes out when at the gym with her family due to lack of eating and possibly even over exercising. Once awoken, her family confronts her and DJ admits what she has been feeling and what has been going on in her life. It all ends with a hug and a sappy speech, DJ’s baba telling her that she doesn’t have to worry and that she is beautiful.
To DJ from the 90s American sitcom, “Full House”, When they made your illness into a half hour episode ended with too sweet music and uncomfortable hugs, I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t get a toothache from all that sugar they gave you to help the medicine go down. But I’m sure more calories was the last thing you needed, and that sugar was just another form of salt in your wounds. I know, Hiding away to fit into a bathing suit, that whole show was a mold, that your character couldn’t eventually fit into. Just like that bikini. The one tying you up the real problems jabbing uncomfortably at your abdomen. Yet, it was never about that was it? Not the pool party or those other girls. It was control, because you had none. After the episode that buried you in cheap jokes and a stale personality. Trying to keep on your postcard image. You just lost the ropes you were trying to hold onto so tightly. All over the world it’s people like you and I being shoved back into a postcard, and wrapped up in bow, sprinkled with sugar. It’s all of course artificial sweetener, zero calories, just to make sure we stay in the plastic wrapping. Because we’re not supposed to talk about those things. We see a body we tell ourselves is not beautiful, when there are soft curves and no sharp edges we do not look like the mirrors that we’ve been told hold the essence of beauty. Instead we are thrown the leftover glass fragments, shoving them in our sides, we crucify ourselves. Trying to finally mold into the crystal cut shape that has been created by us. Everything reflected back, mirrors are the perfect carving carving tool. They are the shapes we are supposed to take. So go to your room now DJ, and keep your mouth shut, as long as nobody sees you, it’s not there.
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Confusion,
Is watching the clock tick backwards while the glass breaks forward around it. Emptiness is the hollow pit of unworthiness buried deep under internal organs and strings of intestines. I am unworthy because nothing can be found, everything hidden in cavernous gaps in my mind. When I search for sound I find meaningless letters, Why can I not burst with emotion? Such a barren desert. Is it a sin I secretly wish for imperfection? To see my thin, clear skin become pock marked with blemishes? Let me break down in tears that will wash away this stillness, but my eyes are dry. Books,
imagination flows, comes alive, words fly off the page, a place where words, are no longer just words, dreams become a universe, a new world, writers can share, new universes, new meaning, to words, nothing is perfect, even in books, there are plots, and solutions, Books, imagination flows, comes alive, words fly off the page I blew up
Demolished the path Ahead of me, Blocking me, Making me worse Making it worse Making everything worse. Wind whipping harshly,
Snow carving bitter patterns, Winter bids its end. I will not forgive you.
You blew it. I blew up. I still will not forgive you. You don't know everything That happens to me. I don't know everything That happens to you. You blew it. I blew up. I will not forgive you. So don't act like it is all Okay. Because it's really not. I will not talk to you. So tomorrow don't say, "Hi," and expect me to say, "Hi," back Because I won't. I will not forgive. I will not forget. Don't try to make it up It won't work. It will just get worse. A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my door,
full of swirling colors that choose not to be named. Closer I fall, soon I will be leaking into this tainted water that came neither the sky nor the ground. This puddle has the smells of tears, yet I do not dare taste it for salt. A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my door, everyone stays away. The frigid, murky waters dare me to do something about it, However I just step back into my house and wish for rain boots. I never really mean it. A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my doorway, if I don't do anything it might go away. Evaporation is a tricky process for an unseen liquid to undertake. you did not die
you simply moved you moved into my dreams. you moved into my heart, a little closer day by day you moved into a memory that will slowly fade away. the girl in the red and blue dress.
the girl in the red and blue dress who thought that her life was a mess, she held her head high she tried not to cry the girl in the red and blue dress. I see America posting, the varied posts I see,
Those of keyboards, each one tapping as it should be blithe and strong, The teenager texting as they do their homework, The boy bands posting his as he makes ready for concert, or leaves the dressing room, The cats yowling on the screen, the youtubers talking on the laptop face, The Kardashians doing nothing as they sit in their palaces, the gamers gaming as they sit, The google’s words, the selfie’s on it’s way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The cutsie posting of the mommy blogger, or of the young women at work, or of the girl blogging or texting, Each posting what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Posting with open fingers their strong melodious posts |