Beautiful Reality

*photo not my own for once, it was from the postsecret art project by Frank warren.


A fearful reflection distorted by your own deception and confusion.
You feel somewhat like a shape shifter due to the familiar obese and repulsive reflection that greets you daily sometimes flicker and transform into a skeletal stranger staring back at you and catching you so off guard this morning. Now you don’t know how you look, you cant even trust your own reflection. Is the mirror lying or are you so deluded that your eating disorder has warped your eyesight and self perception? And you feel it start to smother you, pinning back your shoulders and choaking itself down your throat until it opens your head and steps inside to control your thoughts. You become fearful of your unstable abnormality.

Your life distracted by your image and how you appear to everyone else. The constant squeeze of hunger and sour shivers becomes reliable to you. Those dancing turquoise and lilac spots that spin one more like Christmas lights in front of your eyes as you plunge into another dizzy, light-headed moment. You feel a weak but detached relief from the solid judgemental reality of society.

The sight of your bones becomes beautiful. You feel a glimmer of pleasure as you trace the protruding ribs and sharp hip bones with a pointed finger, that is until you notice the glutinous , sickening sight of your large jelly-like stomach and regain the self loathing and disgust that lurches over you throughout the day. Your never satisfied. There’s always some fat, detestable aspect of yourself you need to starve off.

In result your left with two hunger; the void in your stomach craving for food and the furious hunger to change the way you look so you feel good about yourself. Your only wish is to have a passable body that your comfortable and happy with. This desperate need to love yourself and hunger washes over you as you jealously watch others eat contently whilst you sit there , tired and famished and disgusted. Your so isolated, and its never been so lonely.

Getting dressed has always been a daily hassle. You spend hours searching for clothes you wont feel enormous in, only to be defeated and wear the same frumpy outfit you had on yesterday. As you step outside your house, you wish you didn’t have to go out so nobody would see how horrible you look. You know you’ll only spend the whole evening pulling at your clothes and feeling so self conscious and worthless. You have the urge to hold a knife and carve yourself the figure you desire from this misfit shell of a body your confined to. How can anybody love you, when you look like this?

What’s happened to you? You stand, a beast on bathroom scales. So alone and ugly. The secret anorexic mind is concealed and hidden between four white-washed walls , with a small rectangular glazed window near the ceiling, locked wooden door and an empty, cold bathtub. A rusty cupboard with one door hanging off its steal hinges boxes the stashed variety of laxatives and diet pills. White bottles of hope and security that support you more than anything else. The care free, confident person you remember has metamorphosed into a vile, insecure wreck you don’t recognise.

The years of undesirably painful violence and tormenting bullying he inflicted on you has dug into your mind and germinated to form a small part of this dark , deep hate towards yourself. An overwhelming shameful anger clenches hold of you as you recall every blow like a film you’ve played too many times before. Now you wish you had stopped him, and protected the foolish vulnerable child you were. How could he do that to you? Look what he’s done to you! - its not just marks he left behind. You let every spiteful word become a part of you, and now you still carry them with you, words dragging behind and slowing you down. He who you forgave but resent at both the same time. The passionate and yet destructive hands you can still sometimes feel scratching away at your skin. He took away his bittersweet love and replaced it with a rotten slow poison you cant forget the taste of. He’s broken your life and he’s not even in it anymore.

And in the centre of this room stands the mirror that consumes you. Standing straight along the still wall as you realise,
this is all that’s left of the person you used to be.

pass on- song

ive got too comfortable here, Ive got too used to this life I know,

University sounds like everything ive always dreamed of with so much to do, so many friends, travling and stepping forward and creating myself the future I want to have.

Ive always said I dont feel like i belong here, this town is so uncaring, nobody has ambition and the place is so opressive and restricted. Ive always wanted to get out of here and live somewhere happy and with kinder people.

-only im too scared I wont be happy there and ill be lonley because I wont fit in and make friends. I worry my life wont be as good as the one I have now.

And how can I leave behind the most important people in my life? Like my best friend and soulmate Konor who ive known for years, or Darren, the one person who knows me best and im so close to. I wouldnt be half the person I am now if it wasnt for these 2 people. Let alone my fmaily and everyone else I know.

I feel like theres an expirary date on the time I have left and I feel so pressured to grow up and move on. I dont feel old enough for this, It used to seem years away but now its only one.

I guess im afraid of stepping forward into something so unknown to me

so here it is. pass on. The song...

Like a fire, I watch time burning out

And I don’t feel ready to snub the ashes out

As we camp under stars with old embers in the sky

Watching moments pass the world by

In a forest of evergreen

A forest of evergreen.

We close our eyes and try not to fall asleep.

I don’t feel ready to move on

But I’m snatching at seconds that have already gone

And childhoods’ away and done

Why cant I grow up and do what I always wanted?

We know one day were gonna’ have to get up and grow

But there’s a world of fear in what we don’t know

And the hardest part is the goodbye and letting go.
How can I say goodbye to you?

I push against time that’s running out

Trying to savour the last of this life ill be without

Im holding onto a world moving about

How can we leave it all for something new?

Like a fire, I watch time burning out

And I don’t feel ready to snub the ashes out

As we camp under stars with old embers in the sky

Watching moments pass the world by

In a forest of evergreen

A forest of evergreen.

We close our eyes and try not to fall asleep.

I don’t feel ready to move on

But I’m snatching at seconds that have already gone

And childhoods’ away and done.
Why cant I grow up and do what ive always wanted?

I wish I had more time to spend

As I set off alone to a place without friends.

And ill be missing you and trying to pretend

That you’re here when I read the letters you send.

How can I leave what we have behind?

Life blows away like the chalk drawings

we used to create on pavements ill never see again.

And i’m not ready to leave and go.

Last Year seemed so long ago.

Evergreen poem.

Lets have a party in a forest-with the lamps hung in the sky.
And a tree with all the tents in-and a kite that we can fly.
it wont matter if we disappear-or dance in dewy greens.
they hold our treehouse party-in the flower of their dreams.

and as long as theres a cloud-we dip our fingers in the dream.
if only things could stay the same.
yea I like them evergreen.

or a carvan in wales-with a torch and a bikeshed.
as long as the air spins a tune-we'll dance till we are dead.

we Can sit with open fires-singing nothing with guitars.
or lay back on our rooftops-searching diamonds in the stars.
It dosnt matter where we are-we can hold hands in the dark.
I wonder if a dozen friends-can truly find a way apart?

and as long as theres a cloud-we dip our fingers in the dream.
if only things could stay the same
I liked them evergreen.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith

A true Definition (Love.)

Love is too glorified, and exagerated and decietful. Ask a 10 year old what love is, or how heartace feels and they will tell you the sterotpyical view we have created.Love's been made into an object by valentimes cards ,cliche roses, common photographs and "I love you's" which is meant to express these chaotic emotions but will never do the rollacoster justice..

Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy and perfect. You expect it to be a world that runs smotheley, full of roses and laughs and warm kisses and perfect moments that you find only in movies.No relationship is ever perfect, and love is certainly not whats its made out to be.

You expect her to always say what you want to hear, and to get along with you perfectly, and to always have somethign to say, to make you feel great and always know exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to you. And gettign along with eatch other's friends perfectly Or knowing exactly where your futures will end up and having the best sex in the world everynight. You expect her to calm you down when your angry or to come after you when you turn away. You look at her like a perfect being on a pedalstool -this beautiful creature, that lucky you have all to yourself.You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up with all your plans, not being able to comprehend the situation.

But that's the thing. Love isn't a plan, its not a perfect desitny and its never certain. It doesn't have a clear beginning and it definatly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it.Love happens everywhere, it can be seen as a gillmer of hope from a society that can sometimes appear so hateful and uncompassionate. it is so incredibly messy and confusing. People around you can't comprehend why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something that seems to cause you so much pain and problems, because simply, they can't see. They can't see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when you're in love and they will never fully know or understand exactly how you feel.

Love is inconvenient and painful and devastating at times, but we can't live without it. We are born with the capability of love and we cannot deny it. It teatches us about ourselves, and helps make us who we are today. Every relationship gives us a unique experaince, that we share with someone who will forever be a part of ourselves.

What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes and how much time or effort and strength you put in a relationship. Sometimes, to watch it break away and end. How much it can hurt you. How much of ourselves we have to put into it. How it isn't worth it until we are complete and utter idiots about it. And how we will always look back at it, and long for another chance to saviour the moments we share with the people we love.

Love isn't her calming you down when you shout. It's her yelling, just as loud, just as hard, and just as angry right back at you, right in your face to keep you alive and feeling and to keep you grounded. It isn't her bringing you roses everyday or doing nice things that make your relationship appear more presentable, its about the way you feel and how you both want to do whatever it takes to make eatch other happy. Its not always talkign non stop for hours, because sometimes the comfortable silence is all you need. Its not about having sex everynight, its about connecting with someone physically and emotionally and sharing a bond. Its not about being perfect or lookign great, its about seeing the other persons flaws and wekanesses and loving them,for the true person they are. thats real, honest, true , strong love. You are exposed, vulerable and open to any pain that comes with it.It's after a long fight, that drains the life and bones right out of you both, and yet her showing up at your door the next morning anyway and carrying on. Its about feeling safe, and confident, and wanting to have a future together. It's not her saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you, noone can. So no, it's not her caressing your hair , always makign you smile and telling you everything is going to be alright. It's her standing there, admitting she's just as scared as you are and going through things together.

You have to remember that with love, you're not the only one involved, and theyre sittign right next to you in this rollarcoster. and noone but you will ever know the ride. You put your life, your heart and yourself into the palms of another persons hands and say, "here. Do what you will. Mash it into mince meat. Or forget I ever handed it to you. As long as you have it".Love makes us crazy. It distortes our perceptions and changes our realities and it erases all the lines that we shouldn't cross. Because love isn't about fencing ourselves in; feeling safe, feeling sure about the future and knowing how to act, what to do and what to say. It's about scaring the shit out of every nerve in our body, but pushing forward anyway because you want to.Because all the fighting and all the tears, hardships and all the uncertainty is worth it.

There is a world of a difference between feeling 'happy' and feeling whole. And theres a diffrence between this image of love, and the real thing. And once you find you love someone, and expose yourself to them, nothing will ever replace them, and no other relationship will ever be the same. Any moment, doing anything will be brilliant, just because its shared with them. And once youve met them, you wont be able to picture your life without them.

The true meaning of obesity, noone gives a fuck.

26,500-30,000 children die each day due to poverty. They die quietly in some of the poorest villages on earth, far removed from the scrutiny and the conscience of the world. Being meek and weak in life makes these dying multitudes even more invisible in death. Millions of painful deaths caused by disease, starvation and other forms of suffering we never have to encounter.

We hold life in our burly hands, cradling it as and shoots upwards searching for the light, only to starve it from life and provisions. We seal both hands around it, suffocating it from existence. The magnificence dies as if it never existed at all. We discard seeds into the bin carelessly and purposely wilt a selection for our own amusement, sowing them to execution with our very own hands. Because it doesn’t matter, there are plenty riper packets. It’s the common social case of survival of the fittest; only the self-centered with a heart of gluttony survive.

Or are those brought into the world victims too? The rare exception that care usually failing in their desperate attempts to defeat the biting masses and change the cruelty that exists. Overcome by the density of problems and the size of the opposition. There are strength in numbers and the challenger is brutal. Some revolve to the other side as their attempts to correct misery to good seem pitiful and useless against the dark. Another child another criminal, another victim or another viewer unable to contribute and fight. Tribulations multiplying like sickness and the infection far spread, is there a cure?

World agriculture produces 17 percent more calories per person today than it did 30 years ago, despite a 70 percent population increase. This is enough to provide everyone in the world with at least 2,720 kilocalories (kcal) per person each day. We have enough food for everyone and yet 4000 people starve each hour, victims of our arrogant ‘oblivious’ denial. Apparently equality exists, equality meaning we all have equal roles and rights. Do we not all deserve the same amount of food? Are we not all worthy enough to live?

The distribution of provisions is not equal due to snatching hands stealing any compassion away from the innocent plates that are searching for aid. We stuff more lies into our heads, in self belief we are kind and helpful. The true meaning of obesity; a portion of lies served up with every mouthful of food we cram into our repulsive faces. Obesity to the honest extent, eat until you vomit whilst the dead lie beneath your feet with lifeless-outstretched hands. Your deciding what is worthy, and what deserves to suffer. I hope you feel like God.

Blood smothers the forks in our plump hands, the run off rotting onto our wallets. Scream and die. There is no hell. Filth. We are the lowliest evil accomplishable, the bottom less pit of malice and superciliousness. Each thoughtless person a devil that tortures and inflicts unbelievable cruelty on any defenseless being caught up in our human nature.The target set at the 1996 World Food Summit was to halve the number of undernourished people by 2015 from their number in 1990-92. The estimated number of undernourished people in developing countries was 824 million in 1990-92. In 2000-02, the number had declined only slightly to 820 million. So, overall, the world is not making progress toward the world food summit goal, although there has been progress in Asia, and Latin America and the Caribbean we could be doing so much more.

When we stumble upon a charity box at a supermarket we occasionally toss in a few coins walking onwards with our products and the self satisfaction that we’ve ‘done our bit’, deceiving ourselves that we are empathic. Is this purely ignorance or rejection? We are aware of the injustice to some extent and yet are motionless in our actions to do anything at all about it. We are not the ones suffering, nor do we know them personally, is this why we allow it to continue? isn’t that evidence of our complete selfish ways? How would you rather spend your money, on presents for you, or to help those in need? 10.6 million Died in 2003 before they reached the age of 5, the number appears meaningless unless it was our child. We blame the government, natural disasters, anything to rid us of the guilt. The truth being that united we could cleanse the Earth of moral evil, but we don’t attempt to. If we shared all the money in the world there would be no poverty. Billionaires have too much to spend whilst half the world, nearly three billion people, lives on less than two dollars a day. We generate more pain worsening the situation and we do not amalgamate.

My torment is that I am currently self involved, complaining about the existing problems and not contributing enough as I sit typing in the comfort of my home. Even I don’t know the extent of the affliction. You will read this and go on regardless to my every word, enjoying your day whilst whole countries are crying out to us. Less than one per cent of what the world spent every year on weapons was needed to put every child into school by the year 2000 and yet it didn’t happen. Lay down your guns and egotistical self-indulgence, isn’t it about time we opened our eyes and actually did something about the agony that surrounds us? We are the ones that are fortunate, how can we let so many remain in pain? Their everyday a trial of will and survival.

Molly Elizabeth,Helen Smith

In Our Nature.

My words; expressed or rather written in an almost original manner. Words that are thought, agreed and Communicated by many “original” Humans. My vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs already felt and known by others.I live by man, the products man has made, the products man has found and used and I live by the life of men, like all people somewhat do. I adhere to a set of standards, my tongue rooting out the tastes of society, flavours savouring in the mind. The Images my eyes capture; like a thousand silver cameras with the fastest shutter speeds and highest definition created, the thoughts that flow through my mind; racing the velocity of streams, the series of events and situations toil on my mind and grow into me. They embed in my mind, clasping hold of who I am with a steely griping hand that tightens day by day. Does the brain not delete and discard material coincided unimportant as so not to overload? Is it me that decided what is relevant to remember? Surly I have kept some extraneous material that has become a part of me. If I had absorbed anything different, would I be who I am now and what I am? My every breath captivating influence.

Diving face forward into a media-documented lifestyle, misfortune and fashions displayed or rather inflicted on vulnerable audiences. Solutions sold as the problems are generated, yes you have wrinkles and you’re defenseless against marketing and your lowered self-esteem. It’s the same as our antiquated past, nothing truly innovative or uniquely imaginative. Do I express myself by my appearance, or display the social groups I belong to, my ranking, my culture? Each designer garment displayed on a body, mass produced by strangers that know our personal desires in appearance.My hair cascades onto my shoulders, perfectly straightened, cut and dyed raw brown and blood-stained purple. This frames a clipped side bow and a pale face with a pierced blushing lip and prominent eyes outlined in black liner and emerald green shadow. Below the visage hangs plaited wool of anxious yellow, spring greens and skin pinks. Around my neck a silver charm casually lingers, a miniscule Buddhist tied onto the colored bonds. A dusky red and faded white cheeked shirt flares under the one button done up, swallowing up the banana and pasta top underneath. Worn trousers and a silver studded belt peep out beneath chains brushing against my leg. Torn hems reveal black Airwalks, softened by running, everyday steps, my favorite pair. My style changes slowly each day, progressing with age, time and everybody else. I fit in with the group. Don’t stick your nose up at me!

Individually affected. At a young age I realized we become who we are from experience and the world’s persuasions. This makes personalities develop, and even some physical features appear. We would mount to the people we are differently at just one household away, becoming another person. We are growing at society’s fingertips, but whose hands do we belong to? Additionally, I decided that objects or the materials that make them can never be owned or belong to man, they are the world’s. Ownership is not only passed on but we did not create the original ingredients, only collected what was there. Taking and deciding our right to “own”. My habitat is a jungle of materialistic objects, each salesman and thief another predator. I chose my belongings and paid for the right to obtain them, I was given my preferences and culture. Our technology rises, inventions forming from previous ideas. I am not doubtful that brains, alongside machinery has progressed, but have established from what already existed, nothing in a market of its own.Do we used words such as unique, singular and unusual correctly when we are all affected, pushed, pulled, ruled over and affected by man? Man is no one. How does everyone set these regulations that guide everything we do? An unseen panel of judges watch our every move, every person contributing to the panel’s decision. When man was made, he fitted in with men. Did god create an average, what other varieties would we have otherwise? Some say man made God, so there is a superior others will follow and obey rather than themselves. The One that Laws society, as there is no greater to overrule. Man elects others to govern, rule decide and lead us forward. Man decides what happened to men, man the plural of men, when men are all diverse.

I pick up a smooth stone, solidly decorated with ice. The floor translated and yearning, the environment now distorted. Scuttling, olive-black ants loose a landmark upon their sensory maps, affected by my actions. A passing man wears a sludge-green coat, patched, a size too small. His sturdy soles brushing the pavement and scraping the rugged surface, his journey just slightly affected if the stone is placed elsewhere. Those that become affected by my actions affect others as their actions may differ if they had not been involved with me. Victims of effect collect and grow like water. The impact of my actions spread like disease until everyone is affected, as does change in society, we live on one multiple chains of events, actions changing everyone. The bucket is full.

Nerves pound inside my throat, spilling out and pricking my skin into sweats. My fringe sticks to my tepid forehead and bleeds into my eyes. Bright light catches me like a rabbit on the highway. Blindingly, my feet set into cement as they stiffen forward. I gather myself onstage in costume to the murmur and muffled cough of the audience. My lips equipped for a sticky parting, the box in my head issuing thoughts to operate into speech. Colors and faces a mixed paste wound together. Lines are set, the performance accepted, written by heart and known all along. Expecting hands of expression worn with rings of man to allow a sharing of heard voices. Would applause sound any other way or does DNA decide these rules society casts upon them? I preform and bow. The lights dim, revealing a glowing filament which exists amongst bright glare.

end.

Molly Elizabeth,Helen SmithCopyright ©2007 Molly Hlizabeth, helen Smith