[1] Katie

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  • Dedicated to Everyone who has a pressure.

Copyright © 2011 Lindsay Drummond

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.


Authors Note:
This isn't meant to be proper poetry.

You are meant to read all the one's with the number one, then two and so on, not by characters. (Just click the next chapter button all the way through) Please comment, as I read every one! :)

Everyone has a pressure.

What's yours?


You stand in front of a full length mirror





You know you’ve gained weight.

But no matter who reassures you it’s not true,

You know it is.

You want to be pretty,

To be loved,

To be admired,

To be accepted.

But you’re not good enough.

You never were,

You never will be.

You tried not eating.

But soon people caught on.

You were labeled,

Made fun off,

Called names.

Your Mom made you see a doctor,

Tried to get you help.

But it never worked.

It never would.

He couldn’t make you feel pretty,



Or loved.

That comes from the inside.

But all the inside can see is what’s on the outside.

You sit down at the dinner table,

Where your divorcing parents watch you cautiously.

The house hasn’t sold yet.

So you’re stuck in a broken family until it does.

You pick up your fork,

And stab it into your steak.

Your parents watch with wary eyes.

They were not used to you actually eating.

But as you swallow your first bite,

They look away.


To see their sixteen year old daughter become normal.


To see you try to live.

But you aren’t suicidal.

At least not yet.

You just want to be pretty,

Like the girls at school.

You want them to accept you.

Like you.

Invite you.

Want you.

So you finish off every bite of your dinner.

Your parents watch as you rise from your seat.

They see you put your empty plate in the sink.

They think you’re okay,



But as you walk up the stairs,

You know you’re not.

You won’t be okay,

Until you get rid of your dinner.

You won’t be alright,

Until you lose weight.

You won’t be normal,

Until you’re accepted.

You shut the bathroom door,

And lock it behind you.

You turn on the shower,

To cover up the noise.

You lean over the toilet,

And stick your fingers down your throat.

You throw up your dinner,

And you know,

You're one step closer,

To being pretty.

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