Don’t See Me


opportunity doesn’t knock, it slithers,
it wriggles and burrows with its chattering teeth,  
until it tunnels down, down, down,
clawing and eating away at my insides –
and I feed it

I nourish it with eyes that see, but pretend not to,
with haunting excuses hovering in wait, 
gathering to lock fingers and create a wall no human could possibly scale 
alone

they hide my most precious secret

knees to chest, arms wrapped tightly around, 
and eyes unable to meet yours – 

don’t see me

I am not what you think
(I am not what I wish I was)

-image via Pinterest

Advertisements

Silence 


it closes in on you, the silence,
the pressure of it robbing all the oxygen,
absence coaxing a primal voice to arise that is something no one can imagine until it’s heard

twisting and splintering as it rises,
it’s wicked tongue lies to you,
convincing you, corrupting things,
loading itself with shrapnel from dark crevices and welding it all together into sharp ammunition

it fires and fires, stealing from you,
leaving you without a single word of comfort

only smoke, wafting in its wake

-image via Pinterest

Shameless

there was a void inside her,
a dark closet with a locked door
where she dare not ignite the filament,
for, when light spread its ominous tentacles, 
fearful tears came and eyes averted, 
while scratchy, well-used voices shouted at her from shadowed corners,
reminding her she shouldn't, 
couldn't, 
didn't measure up,
doesn't deserve

'good girls don't, 
curvy girls can't,
what would others think?
you can't be worth the effort

but, with him,
there was no tick on the wall
in which to measure up

with him, not only should she,
but it was expected of her

with him, she could open the door,
demolish the closet,
make room for light and dark
and all the in-between, 
all the time

he made her feel worthy,
and forget about what anyone else thinks 

he made her feel beautiful,
powerful,
herself

with him,
she is shameless

-image via Pixabay

Weight

Can your strength support me?
For I’ve gained too many pounds

And the extra flesh is nothing compared
To this shame in which I’ve drowned

-image from a gif created by Alessandro Baricco, found via Tumblr

Stuffed


Standing at the kitchen counter, she stared at the bag of Doritos. She’d promised herself she’d treat herself well, energizing her body with fuel that truly made her feel good, inside and out. She knew how, she’d done it before; she’d lost 80 pounds naturally, with will, and sweat, and tears, and finding what worked for her, over and again, through every misstep and plateau.

Yet, here she was, staring at the open bag of Doritos, sliding in her hand, promising herself she’d eat just a few.

Oh, wow. I forgot how good these are. A few more won’t hurt, I deserve them. 

That few allowed a few more, and a few more, until the rest of the bag was gone.

It was so easy, even now, after all that hard work, for her to squash that reasonable voice which begged her to stop, that reminded her how awful she’d feel after. And she knew that awful feeling! She’d stared at the bottom of dozens of Dorito bags in the time before. She’d rationalized that voice away hundreds and thousands of times, allowing fear and stress to twist her thoughts ass-backward and tell her she deserved to eat yummy things, to be rewarded for her hard work and effort, and not feel deprived. She’d felt that all too brief euphoria after the indulgences, stuffing that rational voice to the pit of her gut under all that junk. She’d stuffed it away until the scale read 260.

It had been been an endless cycle of stuffing feelings, feeding them with food, and feeling guilt and shame. It would be now, too, if she let it.

Staring at the empty bag, she was sure her shame would more than fill it. It grew and grew, until it took up all the space in the room, permeating her pores, infiltrating her gut to a wretching level. Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the bag….crack, crack, crack. She winced at each crack, the sound a tangible reminder of her weakness. 

Wiping away the tears, she walked the six steps to the bathroom. She glared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she contemplated sticking her fingers down her throat, purging and purging until all that molten shame was out, flushable.

That’s too easy. I have to live with the consequences, that’s what I deserve. 

Again, tears came, trickling down her cheeks, dripping from her jawline into the sink, although she paid them no attention.

Oh, God. How did I get here again?

“Help me,” she whispered, to no one, the no one looking back at her.

-image found on Pinterest, source unknown; this is a fictional piece based on real life

Storm

the rains finally came
in a torrential downpour,
all the what-ifs
and could-have-beens
pelting her,
blowing sideways
in billowing gusts of 
anger and shame,
sending her to her knees

covering her face with her hands,
she attempted to stop
the wicked onslaught,
but there was no longer
anything she could do
to protect her from herself

here she was,
past and present
colliding in the perfect storm,
born of fear,
born of silence

when the swollen mourning drops
slowly began to dissipate,
and the winds of regret slowed,
she rose again,
her flesh tattooed
with the thousands
of words fear enticed her
into never speaking

her heart now visible
on the outside,
for the world to see,
for her to always

see

-image found on Tumblr