is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”


Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(со страницы fxckbxtch)

(со страницы wordlesswonderworld)

я касаюсь рассвета пальцами - горячо.
хватаю момент и пытаюсь его сберечь.
ты сжимаешь ладонями простынь. на ней еще
выемки щек и сутулые вмятины плеч.

тянусь к зажигалке; трусливо белеет дым,
я чувствую боль и пытаюсь ее измерить.
пусть целого мира сегодня милее ты,
мне нужно идти, и я закрываю двери.

безустанно и грубо я штопаю пустоту.
реву диким зверем, колени прижав к груди.
не ищи во мне места, пожалуйста. просто тут
до краев огорчений, и горечи - до глубин.

ты во мне не найдешь отдушины, не сердись.
ты во мне не найдешь спасение, только бремя.

отпускай меня с легкостью, будто бы взмах ресниц.
и это пройдет, поверь мне.

- - -
все же лучше, чем ничего.
"сиденье одно, но ты подвези меня, вместимся"

байкер смеется, и небо, где птичий дом,
раскрывает ладони, импровизируя лестницу.

альт три_настя


Вместо “хорошо” - говорить “окей”, 
Вместо “настоящий” - ”тру”, 
Вместо писем, 
Аккуратно сложенных в конверт, 
Ждать звонка. 
Но как определить, что друг, которому предан ты, 
Тебе больше - не друг, 
Все придумать не могут никак. 

Интернет, тостер. 
Воздушные поцелуи и плазменный ящик, 
Кофе без кофеина, слова без смысла. 
И книги без сюжета - как итог. 
Но как поверить, когда все вокруг говорят, 
Что твоя девушка - гулящая, 
Надо же, не придумал никто. 

Искусственный свет, электронные книги, 
Сеть бутиков и универмагов, 
Сегодня каждый знает, 
Что одеть и как причесаться, чтобы был выдержан стиль. 
Мы придумали, как из деревьев делать бумагу, 
Но не придумали, как деревьям. 
Быстрее расти. 

Нашли, как назвать астероиды и цепочки звезд, 
Запустили спутники, построили небесные вокзалы, 
И к неизведанно-запретному космосу 
Подступились ближе. 
Но как объяснить, некогда любимому человеку, 
Что любви не осталось, 
Подумать только, 
Не написано ни в одной из книжек. 

А коль пришел ты, к примеру, в магазин, 
Да денег нет, так хочешь - карточкой плати. 
Вот картофельное пюре без картофеля, 
Вот шоколад без какао, вот искусственный мед. 
Но что сказать человеку, у которого гепатит, 
И как осознать, что он скоро. 

Приду̀мастей всякого рода - кишмя кишит. 
Вселенская клоака, 
Не нравится - переиграй, 
Не сходится - переиначь, 
Но как сделать, чтоб мама больше не плакала, 
Не показали ни в одной из передач. 

И однажды какой-то дурак придумал, 
Что добром можно победить ненависть и ложь, 
Придумал, чудеса да и только, 
Что улыбкой или теплым объятием 
Можно спасти нас с тобой. 

Я видел его вчера. 
Его топтали тысячи грязных подошв, 
Идущих куда-то в центр 

По мостовой. 

- Птицами “По мостовой”

(Источник: vehrne)

(Источник: wolf-melsykes)

Новая жизнь, - как же это двояко.
Синоним к побегу.
Побегу от призраков прошлого.

"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot".

"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot".

(Источник: arikaftermath из блога fxckbxtch)



(Источник: faeires из блога fxckbxtch)