Things that blow,
The wind following your body’s beautiful curves, yet you hate anyone associating the word ‘beautiful’ to any part of you.
Your voice isn’t naturally low or manly like Joe’s. You wanna be like him, but Joe-Shmo that’s not what you deserve. You deserve you.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, thinking that the image should be clearer, thinking that instead of nearer, how you feel and how you look couldn’t be further apart. And it breaks my heart, you didn’t get what you need, and you’re falling apart, wanna depart, want a restart switch… And the best suggested alternative is a cut and stitch.
Stop telling yourself how much you hate yourself and stop saying it's your fault, stop having bad thoughts and try to see some good, there are still things to live for, stop hurting yourself stop scaring me with your goodbyes stop running with scissors stop playing in the traffic stop saying you'll finally do it
I don’t understand all that you go through and I know you don’t expected me to. But I do know pain, and I’ve dealt with confusion. I understand that this life you live seems like an illusion. This body you deplore because it’s not really your’s. When trying to be yourself starts feeling like a chore. When it’s just easier to tell yourself you’re done for.
But I’ll tell you, if I was in a candy store, and you were a candy with a hard outside-gooey core, even if your exterior didn’t completely match your true interior, I’d still pick you. Because you’re sweet.
It wouldn’t matter how messy you might be or how awful you think you must taste,
as long as your fingers were interlaced with mine, you’d be my cup of tea.
As I hold my tea cup’s waist and look at its reflection, I can see warmth and affection. Rejection and self-protection. I can handle a little messy and Darling I will let you know exactly how you ******* sweet imperfection.
And when you stare at yourself in the mirror, this time, I’ll be there, blowing the wind across your body’s natural, handsome curves.
I performed this Spoken Word poetry in a coffee house at my university, my heart was split in two, one half fell to my stomach, the other jumped up my throat. I was the last to volunteer to perform in front of 15 or so upper-classmen.. I'm so glad I survived and thrived, I plan to do more and perform, to work on my stage-fright.
The inspiration and dedication for this piece is my dear friend, Jeffery Heard. I hope you're doing well ***, I know you've been checking constantly for this, and I'm sorry it's taken me this long to put this up. But here it is, I hope it keeps you going **