with the wind comes a hundred thousand new beginnings.

identities with dandelions;
feet for threads, green arms &
no mind at all.

being bitter & cut down despite sunshine smiles &
our ability to transform.

permanent parachutes to save me;
great heights, soft landings & time
to appreciate the view.

waiting, now,
for the wind to scatter me everywhere,
so i can start over
another hundred


trying to catch time with no hands & no empty jars.

the only thing i find harder to catch
than my mind
is my tomorrow;
the day that fades elusive at night —
while i rest it doesn’t.

& when i awake all with anticipation i always find
somehow it has already escaped

& has pushed forward without me.

a life less lived.

i fell in love with a boy i thought was my whole world
but i was wrong;

he was my whole universe.


you had the ability
to make the time stand still,
but i’m a little stumbly so

i got stuck in between the lines:

so swallowed by regret
everything reminds me of what could’ve been.
i’m collecting stories of
things i never did,
buying bookshelves to display pictures of places
i’ve never been,
& ones i don’t remember.

the girl in the photos is a stranger,
but she kinda looks like me.

feel like i’m missing
something once forgot
but i fear
it’s already gone,
so instead i block it out;

the girl in the mirror i’ve never seen,

but she used to look like me.

produce shopping for a new soul; this one’s bruised & going bad.

typing aloud of my disordered
relationship with food
the urge to instantly delete,
to password protect,
to put away.

letting go of cracked concrete walls
watching them fall
exposing me naked
shiny new & sulfuric
without any skin.

denial makes me terrified
of the truth inside;
as i peel down the layers of my onion soul
thin filmy layers of purple paper roll up & get stuck
beneath my fingernails.
i’ve half-shopped
these supermarket mind aisles before & i
know the stench will stain
half-regretting that
my hands will smell like mental poison for the next

two weeks

not otherwise specified.


just eat
simple advice comes in pre-packaged chunks
a bite-sized piece that breaks off
can’t chew
my throat swells dry &
your words get stuck between my teeth.

just look through the cupboards & find something you feel like

i feel like laughing,
something i feel like?
i feel like forgetting human function
floating above the clouds & eating half-a-meal
on my shrunken stomach
when the hunger strikes;
maybe tomorrow? maybe tomorrow night.
my too-small jeans are becoming too-big &

i feel like forgetting i exist.
Continue reading

a self-destructive mind to match my self-destructive body. (a tribute to autoimmune diseases & my diseased logic)

i am lemon yellow
& leaking from the wrists.

in battle by myself,
i am trying to fight
the part of me
that thinks i can survive on tea & smoothies
because everything else
makes me sick.

‘trying to get better’ is my full time job & i
work all the overtime
for the paycheque i have yet to get.

on doctor’s orders i
cut out cane sugar, cut out gluten, cut out dairy, cut out starches, cut out beans,
cut out all the things that give me medical mood swings
& make me feel like shit.

permission to restrict? no problem
almost afraid to admit
justify my insane meal plans this time because
celiac disease
is such a convenient excuse.

disordered eating;
disordered mind
saying the only things anorexic about me are my
eating habits
& my BMI.
always questioned but escaping diagnosis
because i don’t try to lose weight &
i don’t think i’m fat
i just don’t think

i deserve to eat

but they never ask me that.

my doctor prescribes me 30 pounds;
she recommends 3,200 calories a day
my mouth coats with cotton
there is no fucking way —
she’d settle for 2,500
but while we’re wishing unlikelies
can she prescribe me wings? so i
can soar away from the world where even
1000 calories sounds like a challenge.

i’m just naturally underweight, my mind says
i was born with the ability to survive
on sunshine & well wishes & words.

scapegoat celiac perfect excuse for why
fasting feels fine;
& why it’s normal to me
to not be hungry, to stop long before i’m full, to restrict when i’m stressed;

& to always be stressed.

it’s not until i see pictures
when i’m unrecognizable —

knobby knees, arms like sticks & small clothes that don’t fit.

they say the camera adds ten pounds
but to me it takes away twenty;
always a shock to see on film
what i can’t in the mirror.

denial so tight i confuse it for skin.

i am stiff joints & shaky arms & stumbling,
i am feeling like a fraud but still
i am running until i see spots.

i am used to feeling
my heart fluttering when i’m sitting
tripping over it’s own beats &
trying to escape.

now i am justified
celiac disease provided permission
to scribble another fifty things on my can’t-eat-this list…
disgustingly proud, glorified for restricting suddenly being so healthy
after a positive TTG blood test.

cruel irony in that

i am autoimmune; most food makes
my body attack itself from the inside —
medically diagnosed self-destruction & i wonder how the hell
could my mind ever be fine.