a poem i wrote.

She’s Sick. She’s Nauseous.
She’s full of contempt.
She Hates her living
She contemplates death.
Her stomach
turning, jumping,
And calling for help.
Yet she pushes up the fuel
She consumed before that.
Will her body survive,
After years of this pain
Will she mentally break?
Due to this shame.
She’s wincing. Disgusted.
Praying it away.
She looks at reflections.
In a different way.
She sees a painting
Of a different Thing.
She’s looking in the mirror.
She’s Fighting her mind.
She’s trying to find a goodness inside.
She has to focus
Allow her system to digest.
But her mind says NO.
No. She’s a mess.
The hurt. The pain. The disgust.
Its too much to handle.
The poor girl’s a mess.
The power of her master
Took over her body
She gives her fuel away
Gladly and reluctantly.
She’s turning to bones.
Too thin, now happy.
Trying to deceive herself
That Thin equals happy
Master you’re a liar!
Master you’re a user!
Master you’re a horrid inducer!
Master she hates you.
Yet she needs you.
Let her go, dear master;
Please, she begs you.
Her painful starvation.
Her heart palpitations.
Her mind’s in a mess.
Due to contemplation.
She’s now exhausted,
Extremely weak
She’s Sick. Nauseated.
In pain
And in lost.
You won’t leave her alone.
Dissociation - self-taught.
Her pain she bears
Makes her body run weak.
Makes her time fall short.
Shattered and sick.
Her mind’s a mess.
She’s gone whacked.
Her parents.
Her brother.
Her old friends.
Is like a fantasy she dreams
In Disney land.
Day in and day out.
She’s split into two.
One side’s a fantasy.
The other’s Doom.
Master, leave her to heal
forgive, and move on.
She’s too much of a slave
Her freedom, now gone.
Master, please.
She begs
Give her the freedom she longs.
She’s been Stomped on.
Stepped, Tossed, dear Master.
She has endured far enough.
She’s like a rag doll, dear Master
She’s lost her cry.
She’s too torn,
And then mended.
Stitched, by your Master hands.
Only to have the same happen
Torn over and over again.
She finds herself lost
In pain and in sorrow
She’s now praying by pen,
Her world is so hollow.
She uses the tool
Known as the pen.
The Universe blessed for her
Held in her fragile hands
She writes Master’s words
To keep her mind in line.
But all the while,
She’s hoping
Someone, whoever, can identify.
May she help one more get by.