<I saved this post and tried to think of a reason why. There weren't any concrete ones, however, it was merely because it was a look into a sad time. Some place of cold, romanticized reality. A time when I began to try and recount things to understand the emotions and myself.>
"I'm all about cover up," my best friend said
in reference to the dark circles under her eyes
And mine was in reference to the way I could eat the frosting off three of her roommate's cupcakes secretly and dance it off.
And I knew it was more than that.
I wore the black dress I bought with the cut outs that show my rib tattoos.
I drank a lot of Bacardi.
I let them slide their hands down my hips and all the curves accentuated by bones.
That feeling is amazing though. Hard work inadvertently acknowledged.
The music takes me away and I dance all over and with anyone because I can. Because I restricted for months for this.
It wasn't for this though.
It was for, I don't know what.
I felt good, without the extra weight.
There's been a new number in my phone for the past three weekends and a boyfriend yelling at me for the smallest things. Most days he feels like a good friend on frayed edges and I can't imagine even sleeping with him anymore because he's so upset all the time. I can't imagine being me in the future with him or anyone really.
All there is is me, my new dress, and the music taking me away.
My scale is packed away in my car and I'm not truly going home until Monday and then I'll be back her to go to a concert and I'm glad.
I want to see 129 something more than anything.
Somehow being here makes my stomach empty and my plans fuzzy.
When I'm scared to grow up I let Avicci and David Guetta smooth the lines and then I'm back.
Pretty on the dance floor and a mess at dinner.
You can't take me to dinner without an hour at the gym that day.
You can't tell me I'm pretty.
Or beautiful, God forbid.
I'll smile and turn around to dance on and not face you.
You'll see my eyes and know I don't believe it.
And mine was in reference to the way I could eat the frosting off three of her roommate's cupcakes secretly and dance it off.
And I knew it was more than that.
I wore the black dress I bought with the cut outs that show my rib tattoos.
I drank a lot of Bacardi.
I let them slide their hands down my hips and all the curves accentuated by bones.
That feeling is amazing though. Hard work inadvertently acknowledged.
The music takes me away and I dance all over and with anyone because I can. Because I restricted for months for this.
It wasn't for this though.
It was for, I don't know what.
I felt good, without the extra weight.
There's been a new number in my phone for the past three weekends and a boyfriend yelling at me for the smallest things. Most days he feels like a good friend on frayed edges and I can't imagine even sleeping with him anymore because he's so upset all the time. I can't imagine being me in the future with him or anyone really.
All there is is me, my new dress, and the music taking me away.
My scale is packed away in my car and I'm not truly going home until Monday and then I'll be back her to go to a concert and I'm glad.
I want to see 129 something more than anything.
Somehow being here makes my stomach empty and my plans fuzzy.
When I'm scared to grow up I let Avicci and David Guetta smooth the lines and then I'm back.
Pretty on the dance floor and a mess at dinner.
You can't take me to dinner without an hour at the gym that day.
You can't tell me I'm pretty.
Or beautiful, God forbid.
I'll smile and turn around to dance on and not face you.
You'll see my eyes and know I don't believe it.
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