counting stars

i think i'm not writing so much because i'm sick of writing about my eating disorder, and then i'm sick of trying to get out what i'm feeling but end up forcing it into something positive instead. i mean yes, it's great to turn negativity into positivity, but it's nullifying the point of writing to get it all out. i don't feel more positive from turning it into something positive, i'd feel better just regurgitating my feelings onto paper (or deviantart). so i think that's why i'm so quiet here.

in other news, i'm working hard on trying to decide how to proceed. i want to:

go to school in the fall
get a tattoo before the summer ends (i want it on my thigh so having something short so as to not make it rub is ideal)
get a job
make it through the fucking semester if i do go back
which probably requires that i get a handle on myself.

i'm basically trying to prioritise and i know what i should do but it's so fucking hard. there's a lot to do and i feel very stuck. i want to get better but i feel like i'm not sick enough or have suffered enough. blah blah i know blah blah but it doesn't change how i feel. if anyone wants to help me process this shit, please do.

in other news, it really does warm my heart that at least some of you stick around for my silence/whining/silence again. you make me feel like i still have an audience and hey, i guess i like to perform. i don't like writing to an empty crowd. so thank you.

-

<da:thumb id="460450545"/>  against this cold.maybe if i had drunken more milk my bones would have been stronger,
maybe if i had not read so many magazines i wouldn't have spent 
all of my senior year tearing myself apart and trying to puke my insecurities out.
maybe if i hadnt had spend so many nights out with him,
maybe if i had have gone to colorado with you that summer.
maybe if i had have picked those fucking secrets out from beneath your teeth,
and peeled them from under your tongue.
maybe then i would have been able to stop you.
maybe then i wouldn't be here.
maybe you would.  on being savedi am sorry you
have never known salvation
from another's touch  3C03creating crystals in the corners of my eyes
even though I've not been sleeping
& the nurses all know me by name
& they dance when they enter my room
& we joke, 'cause that's easier than crying
third lumbar, burst, ankles busted
& wheels in place of feet weighted down with plaster
casts with names & faces scrawled across
& I'd like to think I've gained more than I've lost
this accident stitching my family together like sutures
strung across my skin, my calves, my back
& mostly that's enough to make me keep it all together
still, some sleepless mornings it hits me like the fall:
what if I never walk again?
what if I never dance?<da:thumb id="449501176"/>  Davaothe equatorial sun
soft-etched on my skin,
there, del sur
islands away
the tan lines of shallow-bathing
in your eyes
there is so much time between
                you
       
                         and
                
                                   I
    
                            you spoil me, featherbreath
                            do i dare commit my memory
     <da:thumb id="460450545"/>   <da:thumb id="447798856"/> <da:thumb id="463529218"/>  on marrying medusaso she
told me, hair water-
falling down over         her
ship's deck shoulders, that
she would like to be
with me: we
could write stories, said
she.
i reached
out: empty
air; the ground splitting
beneath me into warring
factions and i
had been standing on the
17th parallel for
too many years now, as the
pressure escalated up, up, and
away –
"you won't be happy,
with me," (her stainless steel
nails dig deep into
my serotonin skin as she
takes her place beside
me, distracts
me from the
fall) – "no, you
won't be
happy," she
assures me, "but then,
again, you never
will be."
but with me, she
slurs, rolling perfect
-ly spherical marble
eyes and running her
skeletal fingers through the
swirling cascade, you could
write a story; you could
be a story.
and see, poet, i
had always longed to
be a heroine and, failing
that, a work of
art.
we wrecked
ships, she and
i: sent them out to
stormy sea and
watched them
sink as she
sucked <da:thumb id="439132554"/>  henceforth assigned to carry a large hole.you taught me how the lack of somethings presence
can be a presence all of it own.
your absence filled
the entire room. 

<da:thumb id="460914620"/> <da:thumb id="203780143"/> 

<da:thumb id="353643645"/>   <da:thumb id="463672202"/>