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 Nov 2014 A Sickening Love
Neath
It's not because I need to.
It's because I want to.
Don't you agree that human beings are truly disgusting creatures?
I'm sorry I'm not 'perfect'
I'm sorry my hair isn't as thick as hers
I'm sorry I'm not as blonde
I'm sorry I need glasses
I'm sorry my eyes are almost black,
          not blue or hazel or something pretty
I'm sorry my nose is big and pointy,
          not small and cute
I'm sorry my lips are weird
I'm sorry I'd rather write and read
           because I can't sing or play very well
I'm sorry I'm not curved in all the right ways
I'm sorry I can't afford nice clothes
I'm sorry I'd prefer to help the community
           rather than get straight A's
I'm sorry I'm a really religious Catholic
           not a really religious Baptist
I'm sorry that we're not twelve anymore
I'm sorry that I'm not worth the effort
I'm sorry I'm ****** up
I'm sorry I love you
I'm sorry I'm not *her
For KB.
Kind of a rant.
This needed to happen, sorry if it isn't well thought out or deep or anything. It's just how I've felt for a very long time. So long, it almost doesn't matter anymore. Almost.
You told me I looked hot today.
You told me I am ****.
And you said someday, someone will tell me I'm beautiful.
No, I'm sorry, you said someday someone will find me beautiful.
Thanks. Thank you. Thanks. -_-
 Nov 2014 A Sickening Love
Rigby
I noticed how short your nails were
and that you tried to brush out the cow licks in your hair
and I noticed how you grind your teeth when you dream
and how you would jump at the slightest sound
and I noticed that your favorite colors were blue and black and green.

but you only noticed how pink my lips were
and you only noticed how soft my knees were
and you only noticed how I would give you anything if you didn't ask
and you only noticed what you wanted to know and not what you wanted to wonder

but i wonder if you felt the scars on my thighs as you slid your hand passed them
and i wonder if you heard the nervous chuckles when i came up for air
and i wonder if you remember that my eyes are blue and green and my heart is black and i wanted to be your favorite because parts of me are broken and i wanted you to wonder why.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.
Try to understand.
I know a girl
Who sits behind a computer screen
Wondering if she's worth something

I know a girl
Who stares into space trying to think of reasons
Why people should care if she fades like the seasons

I know a girl
Who is broken more than she can comprehend
Who cuts and scars more when she tries to mend


I am a girl
Who could just cry -- I could just cry
When I see that maybe my words matter
Maybe there are people who like what I write
(Yes, the last stanza doesn't rhyme...
what do you want from me?)
- - -
Thank you all so much.
You know not what you mean to me.
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