warm these frail and lonely bones.

i open my eyes again and my feet hit the floor, im not really there. im a spectator in my own life, turning it off to make it through the day. i see through my eyes like a tv screen, like it isn't my life to live. like i can walk away from my own body if i wanted to. but im trapped between my own skin and bones. i put on makeup, widening my eyes, lifting my brows, i appear friendly, happier. i curl my hair, everyday, just so it looks like i have it all together. getting ready is a blur, my face in the mirror is not one i care to see for too long. or at all. i like to look through myself, like its just a dressup game and im the character. 

i get through the day with a smile, or a look of mild irritation, but i hold it together. i turn it off and pretend to be fine, and most days i dont have any memory of things i do or say, or what work i did, or who i talked to. i am not present enough in my own mind to play a part in my life. 

i get home, and the switch flips, i am all of my feelings at once, and the girl in the mirror doesn't look how she should. i look scared, and exhausted, and sad. and its true. but i hate it. my slightly downturned lips, and quivering chin, my shaking hands and blood shot eyes, my frail bones sticking through my frail skin. im cold. all the time. i get cold sweats daily, because im anxious, and underweight, and my hair falls out. but im cold. im so cold. 

i get home, and its me, and my brain, a cold bed, my own cold skin, and hair i lose on the pillow. i love cold weather, it gives me an excuse to wear a jacket, or to get the chills, or to wear long socks. i love the cold. it gives me a reason to seek out warmth i would otherwise be looked at sideways for. 

im cold, i am not okay, and i dont feel right. im tired of wanting to sleep and never wake up but truly if i can find peace in between the nightmares under a warm blanket, i will stay there forever. put me to sleep and keep me that way. warm these frail and lonely bones until i burn to ash and make me a tree, pick apples from my branches and bake a pie. eat all the calories i never could, and fall in love with the cold because its beautiful, not because its a good lie. recognize my loneliness and understand that on my loneliest days, i loved the hardest, i begged for any shred of love through compliments and acts of service. hoping to gain approval or praise or a hand grazing my arm. i wanted simple human connection but i never could verbalize that. instead i loved so hard it made it impossible to not love back at least a little. and thats sad. i dont want to see anyone beg for love and affection the way i do.