CW: disordered eating

eat too much eat too little hold each other hold no one

pretend my heated blanket is a boyfriend go to the mall shop fast fashion

feel bad about shopping fast fashion. some years i get younger and do too much

and feel bad about it do nothing feel bad about it

feel nothing be something break open a bag of tortilla chips break open

the sun taste the sun taste life or what tasting life tastes like.

there has never been so great a myth 

as getting better alone so i go home 

can’t go home can’t sleep hear your heart shattering across the house your small body sends something seismic out and up and up

and the floorboards rattle and so do my teeth. leave the house again run to the river 

run back fall asleep early wake up late cry stop crying cry more skinny dip accidentally almost drown. swim. have a great time,

wish I was here. drink river water spit it out cough it out, make love

hate ourselves make love again make things better make things worse break

someone’s heart break my heart eat hummus with a fork

call it anything other than depression call it depression. call it

a failed suicide attempt

but you are alive

call me call me call me call me call me

call me back. don’t call me back. bleach the bathtub. clean the kitchen. listen to country music. talk about how much we hate country music. 

make a mess. sing. go to sleep. sing yourself to sleep. dream 

because there is nothing left to do. love because there is nothing left to do. 

love. love more. say this time we’ve won. turn the tv off. wipe your eyes.

crawl out of it. crawl on all fours. crawl towards the sun

the refrigerator the tower. say there is no need to get things right tonight 

and burn it all to the ground then burn it all down again. smile. get in the car 

to get anywhere that’s not alone.   water the plants do nothing for weeks

other than watch them grow. talk about your childhood bedroom, a moonlit mess,

and the way it looked in the moments before sleep. learn to live in a body 

that hates you no matter the cost, sing yourself to sleep one more time.

 winter is breaking open, too,

like a bottle of cream soda or skin.

Madeline Augusta Turner lives in Northampton, Massachusetts and writes in pursuit of wildflowers. Shaped by her ever-growing community and her life at the intersection of industrial decay and endless cornfields, Madeline’s work can be found or is forthcoming in DEAR Poetry Journal, Hecate, Rejection Letters, Crow & Cross Keys, and others. Say hello on Instagram @madelineaugusta or on Twitter @soilslut.