Once upon a midnight dreary
Panic Attack

Are the walls closing in,
or is it just me?
This room is getting smaller
by each second that flashes
past my sight, almost as if I
can see the numbers counting
backwards, I can hear them
ticking, a pounding in my temple.
Time has become tangible
images of numeric monsters,
hours counting down until
the sun turns this sky red and retires.

Is it getting harder for you
to breath as well?
Like someone is standing on
my chest, wrapping thick
fingers around my fragile neck,
choking the thick cloud of smoke
escaping my lungs.

This sense of terror rattles my
bones, trembling deep under
my skin, and I fear the marrow
is turning to dust.
My skin feels like it’s getting
tighter, shrinking, and these
sharpened nails can’t peel the
flesh away fast enough.

This darkness is swallowing me,
an emptiness lulling me to give in
and embrace chaos, admit defeat.

This is the panic that haunts my dreams,
it’s finally taking over, it’s getting the best of me.

Starving for Beauty

I see these women with
bones piercing their skin
the outline of their ribs,
the coils of ivory protruding
through the back of
a dress. The collar,
cheeks, and hips
all lacking flesh and
color, the pink tones
intended for a woman.


And this is what I’m
told is “beautiful?
I flip the pages of my
magazines, turn
channels on television
to see these women
withering away all
in the name of beauty.
So what does that
make me? Ugly?


Not at all.
I love my frame,
fragile with curves in
all the right places.
I embrace my body,
I eat when I want to
and I enjoy being unique.
Women weren’t meant
to starve and disappear.


Being happy, being yourself,
being different, now
that is beautiful.