9.

on the other hand,
i look forward to when daddy decides he
doesn't want to come home, because
even though i hate when he doesn't,
it's nice to know that i don't have
to hide everything from everyone.

i know it sounds sick, and it's
not that throwing up feels good, pursay,
but it feels good to have control of
something.

above all, feeling like my whole body is
transparent, is the best feeling yet.

no one wants that, though...
or maybe everyone wants that...

i can't say i know.

8.

other than that (the throwing up),
when i'm near a friend, i don't eat,
because vomiting is not enjoyable,
and baking soda and water taste like
shit. but, i sort of don't want my teeth
to disinigrate... that'd be no good.

everytime i look at food, i
have a choice: eat, purge, or
just not eat. not eating, of course,
if so much better, because you don't
have to keep it such a secret, and it's
easier to convince daddy that i've
already eaten, rather than telling him i feel
sick again, and again, and again.
daddy really shouldn't have to worry about
things like that, because things like
that just aren't important.

7.

afterwards:
i always throw it up,
because after all, I don't
really want to be fat,
i want everything to disapear,

especially the double digit
pants and medium shirts,
because i don't want to
be fat, and don't get me wrong, please,

i know no one's perfect,
but everytime i look in
the mirror, i see someone
i hate looking at, and
i just want her to disapear

before the people around
me get used to her, and
begin to think she is me.

6.

to clarify, it's not that i don't ever eat... i
do sometimes, and sometimes i eat more
than normal, binging on everything i can
find in the fridge, all my eyes

can see in a 4 step radius (because that
last thing i want to do when i binge
is to move large distances, because i don't

want to loose more calories than i have to
(at that moment only). why would i?
food is good, and food is easy to go
crazy with when you want to lose control, see?

then, while i'm sitting at my table, hoping
someone i know does not walk through my
door, i feel dirty, i feel sick, and
i quickly put away all that is left, because what

i really don't want people to see is me
losing control of what i don't really have.
and then, right then, what i don't really want is not

really relevant anymore, now is it?
no, it's not, so i take the food out once more,
and all that matters is putting this food
in me, and have no one know it's there.

5.

... if it was, i wouldn't feel the need to keep my
shoes on when i enter the door, or i'd be okay
when someone new came to stay, after all,
it is my couch they are sitting on,
my coffee they are drinking. I

don't think it would matter if i lived with complete
strangers, of if i lived with a dead mum, a broken
sister, and daddy, who does more that smoke an
everyday cigerette. it's all the same, so don't

fret, Kay. because it's all sorted, and organized
into labled compartments, pointed out on index cards,
and put in filing cabinets for safe keeping,
so when dinner comes along, and all the strangers
come to the table, i can feel just the same if it were my
own family; and no one would take any notice that i didn't eat

anything on my plate.

4.

my friends don't realize how sick i am,
or what is wrong with me... if, indeed,
there is something wrong with me, and
it makes things hard sometimes, because i
have to spill my problems on inocent bystanders on
blogs instead of people that actually know me.
but, it's not so bad, because one doesn't have to deal
with the people they talk to on a daily basis
if they don't even know them.

i think my friends would listen, if i asked them too,
supplying advice, information, much help, reassurance,
but i don't want them walking around each day with
everything hanging above them: storm clouds stalking.
so, instead, i listen to them, because everyone should
have someone to talk to, if they want it, and i'm
always there (i hope they know that).
always, always there for them.

and that's fine, as long as i can scream when i get home, because
by the end of the day, i have hundreds of worries and
contemplative thoughts whirling in my mind, and it's all at
warp spead so if i try to stop them, they cut my skin and leave me
without bandaids, and i end up bleeding everywhere, and
all i can do is hope someone won't find me lying there on my
kitchen floor trying to tape my hands back together,
and by the time they get there (if they do, that is)
all the worries and contemplative thoughts that weren't
even mine to begin with have already driven me to a point of no return, and
i begin to wonder and worry of making it back to conciousness,
back to my home, in time to put dinner on the
table for daddy and for our housemates, so i climb
out of my comatose state, take a couple deep breaths,
and walk down the street. a metaphorical street,
of course, one with no name; it doesn't have one...
(but even if it did, it wouldn't matter
because it wouldn't lead home anyways, because i
have serious doubts that home is even real.)

3.

wrong:
because i can always go down...
down on many things, maybe.

girls, boys, drugs, toys,
something time consuming and un-special.
un-special: i've always wanted that, but it seems i'm

always letting the small things get to me,
and then they become something more than
what they were to be in the end, just

before i'm ready to let them go.

i'm out of control, and i guess no one can
stop me, because no one ever tries, and
even if they did, they wouldn't succeed,
because that would be completely, ridiculously insane.

2.

time stops everytime i think about it,
and everyone freezes in place.
no one changes, no one grows old,
and it makes everything harder than I

want it to be.
but i can't help that i have demons,
everyone does, everyone should,
or maybe, should not?
perfection or choice? that's all you want

out of life, right?
but to choose perfection defeats the purpose,
whether or not the purpose wants to
be defeated. a choice should be easy to make,
even if it's a hard situation.
right, wrong. left, right, choose!
IT'S NOT THAT HARD,
but the only way out seems to be up,
and i don't seem to have any more
balloons left, so i guess up or out

is out of the question,
right?

right?

1.

i wonder if daddy realizes
what i do when he's not there.
it's not that he's unintelligent,
or unobservant,
but he's absorbed with so much
that it wouldn't surprise me if one day
he forgot who i was.

it's not that i think i'm not important to him,
but there's just so much that goes on,
so much he has to deal with,
and i wonder if he knows how invisible
i am.

i don't do bad things when he's not home,
no parties, no drugs,
no.
no.
no.

part of me wants to make daddy proud,
and stay a perfect little girl,
but another side, a more dominant side
wants him to start realizing there is more
that is happening than what he sees.
i will be,

even if it means secrets and hiding,

the

perfect

daughter.