Ouch, that stings,
but that's just the pain that your love brings.

I have been so very confused
And my search history has turned into
some monument for you
"Heart stinging?" It's a sickness
"Too much loving?" Call a therapist
"How to not love you anymore"
nothing useful
just a bunch of wikihows
"How to stop loving someone who doesn't love you?"
Ouch, that's rude
seems a little too direct
but that's okay
it's your fault, too

Texting
Singing
Ignore your phone ringing
Ruining me
Using me
Pretend you aren't abusing me
Overwhelming
Overtelling
Aimed at me you're always yelling
Sting me
Bring me
"Can I meet your family?"
You say no
go change your clothes
You're too ugly, adios.
Goodbye love
I am free of
Your mental sort of
Boxing glove.

Little young lady,
I have missed your face,
and I know you're lying
when you say that you're okay
I notice your face,
your clear fall from grace,
No matter how obvious,
your family looks away
When all you need is someone to ask you
if you are really doing okay
everyone looks away
so are you really okay?

Dinnertime
I ignore my mother calling me
Just as my stomach rumbles
Just as my stomach stings
And I am starving,
But I will not get up
Because I'm not hungry enough
I feel like I'm about to *****
My saliva has turned sweet
And I gag every once in a while,
But I will not get up
Because I am not hungry enough
I feel empty,
Like there should be more inside me
And I mistake it for an emptiness
That stems from depression
An emptiness that says something is missing
From only my mind
And not from how little I have been eating recently
It's not a disorder,
I am just not hungry
While other kids eat their lunch
I gather some celery sticks and some broccoli
maybe drink a little juice
And then I'm finished.
I'm not finished as in I am no longer hungry,
I'm finished as in I will not get up.
Because, although I am hungry,
I am not hungry enough.

My brother knows,
Though really, he will never understand.
I ask him if I pass,
If this binder does it.
He says, "not really,"
I just look down,
but then suddenly,
My thoughts start to stray.
I realize I'm not flat,
I realize I'm feminine
I realize too small
I realize I don't fit in them
Them being the category that is a male
Them being the jeans that I try despereately try to fit my waist in,
Them being society,
Them being normal.
I stand in front of a mirror 20 minutes a day looking at the small details that remind me I am "She"
I will always be "she"
I will never be "he"
Never.
And my mom knows that, so why should she bother trying to change it?
She says I have chosen a stupid name,
But it is not like I had any adult figure to help me pick it out,
So why is it my fault?
I wish I didn't feel like this,
But I do not have a choice.
Well...
this is not entirely true.
I could choose to not think too hard when people call me "She"
I could choose to not look in the mirror and call myself "She"
I could choose to understand that everyone knows me as "She"
And I could choose to move on
But I don't.
I told my mom, she said I'd grow up to regret it.
I gave her the statistics, but that wasn't enough.
She said "she"
She called me by my name,
No, not the name that I have chosen, the name she had chosen for me.
And I ignored it.
And I didn't say anything.
But it still makes me feel empty when I realize I have too many parts that make me a 'whole,'
3 parts I can't look at without feeling my eyes sting,
3 parts I can't wait to get off of me,
But that will never happen.
Because,
I will always be
"She."