Little Things

skinny girls bleed flowers

these are not monsters.
there are no monsters here.
these feel like love, and when they creep inside you,
its like something once missing is finally coming home.
how could a monster make such pretty girls?
pretty girls.
pretty skinny girls.
they look like everything
that is wonderful about being alive;
like vodka diet cokes,
and pictures of hip bones on the beach,
and all ive eaten for the past three days,
are my insecurities.
and these monsters (not monsters)
can make you pretty too.

youll learn to make jokes about why youre slicing
the one orange you brought for lunch,
(and breakfast and dinner) into a bajillion little pieces.
lifting the morsels from perfectly folded napkin,
with delicate cracking fingers,
to heasitant tounge.
and when the jokes get too cumbersome,
and taste too much like nourishment,
like letting go, like happiness,
youll learn to put an end to lunch.
forget what it means, and by the last day of school,
youll know every spot where no one where ask where your friends are,
and why you look so tired.

the monsters (not monsters),
will share their secrets.
that needle thin bones when crushed,
into a fine paste and stirred ,
into the twenty five glasses of water youre going to drink today,
tastes like lemonade.
and you can have a sip,
for only the cost of the rest of your life spent worshipping
the feeling of hollow.
searching up number ,and number,
and dead girl ,and number,
you too can spend the rest of the day
smellng of what you just
had to scrub off the bathroom floor.

go, theyll say.
outstretching weak hands, and bottle caap wrists.
memorize menus and all the lies you could tell.
spend hours at the grocery stor counting,
fifty,
one hundred,
two hundred...
no more than three
or else your thighs suddenly your thighs begin to inflate like balloons,
from all the birthday parties you couldnt go to.
youll learn to avoid celebration,
because celebration means food.
and youll spend christmas day,
fantasizing about burying your dissolving teeth into your knuckles,
until your heart stops.

the not monsters
will feed you your first drink.
and your second.
and your tenth.
and will leave your shiny hair,
left in a clump on your pillowcase
just for you.

and when your body gets too weak,
it starts to crumble.
but where sick breaks skin,
sunflowers will grow.
an entire garden,
will enforce itself  from your empty stomach,
billowing out your mouth, and youll choke.
but youll be happy,
because at least your not eating.
youll decompose,
until you can not be differintiated
from all the skeletons that have been living in your closet.
dont you wish you could shrink?
dont you wish you could have control?
dont you wish you could make your mom cry?!
because she just doesnt get why you do this.
you dont get why you do this
youre smart, but you just googled
how many calories are in toothpaste.
the pretty girls.
pretty skinny girls.
pretty dying girls .
pretty dead girls.

the parasite can be restrained, but not destroyed;
but no matter,
its a beautiful thing to be made of porcelain.
but the picture of your hip bones at the beach was worth it.