i long for you now like i once longed for the man who ***** me for a year and a half.
i know this feeling.
even if it's a little different.
you disgust me for other reasons.

but for the comfort of your familiar chest,
arms,
lips,
bed
for the security of your car, your smell, your stupid laugh
for all the familiarity and odd feelings that we kindled in my summer-time driveway in the middle of the night...
i would beg.

i pay you back for your lack of attention with well aimed selfies at other men
snapchat carrying them faithfully across the pixelated airways
no evidence for you to find.

in the end, i resent everyone i love
for every opportunity that i stayed silent about what i really wanted
i resent them for my own flaws.
my quietness, my need to please.
i make myself a dog, and they pet my ego
just enough to keep me from leaving.

the curse of a fat stomach,
arms,
thighs,
attributes of a fat ***.
they can keep me in my place because i do not believe i am deserving
i've been taught that well,
but instagram makes me brave.
there are other girls like me
i stand on the foundation of the horror and humiliation they endure
in the hope of a better future
less fuckboys
less degradation
more equality
for my
fat
***

how much longer will i believe i have to put up with less than what i deserve
because i am lucky someone wants to **** me at all?
i don't think it will be long.
decades of socialization taught me to beg for every scrap
from a table laid for girls much thinner than i
but the tables are turning
resetting
rearranging
the playing field
is changing
fat is okay
fat is pretty
fat is normal
fat is just like anyone else
i just want to be treated
like everyone
else.

your spineless trajectory sprinted right through me
and i'm trying to decide how i feel about it
if i'm sad at what i've done
or happy that i've left behind someone who is going no where
except downwards

break ups do **** a little
it's mostly the silence that gets to me
i like having someone to tell all the funny little things that i think of
during the day
my phone is very quiet without you
no musical little bleeps or blinking lights

but i can take the silence this time around.
and for that i like it
even relish it
the long gaps between my replies to you
if i reply at all

this time i am powerful
it is nice
but it is also frightening

i get bored easily
when you are no longer advantageous

the honeymoon period
where you buy me things to love you
is fading
and you don't brush your teeth
or know my middle name
or what really
happened to me
and the first time we had ***
you took advantage
of a drunk new years
without
a second
thought

maybe i simply do not like men
in this century
or maybe all men
are disgusting
or maybe all humans
this is why
i want to break up
i'm not in it
for the love

beautiful, long-lashed baby girl
hair black and smooth, peruvian:
steel blue eyes.

mama has too many latin ******* to beat up
to enjoy your gentle burbles and smiles
too much hair to style
too many faces to kiss in pictures
that aren't yours.
gold chains and pursed lips and popped hips
her lifestyle,
though changeable,
leaves her unwilling.

too pregnant too early
too willing too early
i remember walking down streets with her
a child
telling me that she wanted to have ***.

she did finally,
and she had you.
for a few weeks, maybe.

i hope you live with your grandmother
and not with a stranger.
i hope your mother will apologize someday
for choosing to be wild
instead of loving
to one of the most beautiful baby girls
i have ever seen...

(just like her
mother)

take sips of immorality like it's a fine wine
that you've missed out on
for centuries
while it
cured

hold the throbbing handfuls
turn them in your palm
marvel at their warmth and wetness and excitement.

sample the platters brought before you
golden, rich, budding
pluck them before they waste away
and regret flowers in your closing irises.

dance rhythmically against him
the lingering taste still in your mouth
his sweat against your neck
hands gripping your back
savor the moments
that your laurel crown
makes your red cheeks glow.

all humans think they are the ******* ****
like we think elevated thoughts that trip across moonbeams
drift on clouds laced with estrogen and ******* sunshine
like we steer their course
when in reality
our elevation has nothing to do with the brevity of our infantile thought processes
that we believe are unique and something for others to wonder at
it's been ******* done before
someone already wrote a better poem about it, too.

don't stand on my shoulders and point out all the **** i can't see from down here
things unseen still exist
i'm not a tourist
in a poetic world you created
full of bleeding wrists and antidepressants
******* tell it how it is
don't elaborate
or don't
say anything
at  
all

i love it when you sing to me
straight melodies
floating two hours
to my attention-seeking limbs.

charmed lines traveling through digital thoroughfare
lighting up my bedroom
with our ALL CAPITAL LOVE AFFAIR
i'm okay with it

i'm past the point of wanting to be moral
i want to enjoy all the decadent sins that have danced on my t.v.
for decades
sampling the plump fruits and and round desserts
bubbling with juice and flavor.

all my life i've been told i would regret their taste
i would regret the moment it melted in my mouth
turning to ash
but it goes down smooth
and with rich taste
no trace
of ash or decay

morality is the illusion,
not sin.

fingers down my back
*** too fat
you like my thighs
and my lips
and my little quirks
i can be as silly as i want
and i love it
you're like him
without the abuse
am i allowed to say that?

turn right and think about happiness
as my broken sneakers walk me toward a mirror-image in the dark window.
i have never been so grateful to be away from someone
never so thankful that my biggest problem is an annoying girl
i almost giggle in my play
avoiding her in the halls
such trivial problems
am i allowed to be a child
now?

the book of love is transcendental
unreadable
blurred pages and scarred notes
frightened edges and scrambled sentences
on phone screens.

the book of love has music in it
songs and playlists we listen to
when the people we love don't talk

the book of love is long and boring
all the upset, angry words we've heard before.

the book of love is tired
of being read aloud.

i used to miss god.
i used to miss feeling like there was something bigger
twiddling the dials
and pointing the guns
orchestrating the earthquakes
creating symphonic tornadoes and landslides.

when i first lost him i missed him
but now i scoff at the idea
that something or someone has planned out the crazed track of humans
a goose-chase in the snow
little fox tracks that overlap
unable to telling who's going or coming.

if anyone is in control he is a madman
playing a fiddle
stroking his bow across our backs
as tormented, we dance.

there is no rhyme,
nor reason
there is only the flawed decisions
our ignorant and selfish brains churn out
minute by minute
second by second
ruining everything around us.

i like you because i was taught that you are too good for me
and am blessed that you look at my face a little too long.

there is no real connection.
you're ******* boring
but i let you talk to me
because you are
pretty

sometimes i wonder about you
if you're still where i left you
like my room at home that i leave for months at a time
are you still in the same places
waiting for me to come back
sleep in your bed
lie in your arms
cut myself in your bathroom
burn my wrists on your couch?

i look at the pieces i can still see
and wonder about talking
how you do talk to a ******?
like you talk to anyone?
i should know
of anyone
i was with you
for so
long
before i decided
that i was worth more
than a **** that i didn't even want.

fat girls have it rough.
girls have it rough.
we feel less than human
so unlovable
that even if a man rapes us over and over
but says that he loves you
it's okay
because
he loves you.

clearly
he ***** me
in
love
the purist
form
of love -

lust.

love is just an excuse
to get what we truly want.

The scorned heart shies from love and care
Scattered by too lustful a lip and hand
Learns to take the menial wear and tear
With bold eyes, brass knuckles, and diamond stand.
How does the muscle learn once more to exercise and share?
When does it remember how not to feel ******?
With swift fingers and wet lips love soon loses its flair.
Quickly flows the fire, and unplanned
Swift is its destruction and biting is its snare
How lonely are they that fall prey to its tumultuous sand!
Little frightened defenses crop up to eat their share
Strangling any flowers and sweetness that lay unmanned --
Nothing protects the gentle heart from this discourse,
Men oft take what they desire ungently, and with force.

so ardently
so passionatly
so often you voice your feelings for me
it's always been what i wanted
but you've caught me too late
too unwilling to reciprocate
even if it were chris
i would change direction
i would sever ties
too immature for love
too small
too frightened
too unsure.
i wish you would let me be.

still wear your shorts to bed sometimes
******* the hole in the side.
i don't connect them with you anymore
except for the few times i catch myself in the mirror
and remember staring at myself in your sliding doors
wondering when i would be brave enough to get away from you.

the pain is dull
like all the white ridges on my arms and thighs
but the boy in shakespeare class
wears your cologne
and monday, wednesday, friday
every breath i breathe in class
is
frightened.

it's no use hiding yourself
hiding your stomach or your hands or your thighs
because you are afraid they're too fat
it's no use
he will like you if he likes you
it doesn't matter how long he holds you
he holds everyone that long
don't be afraid
he's got other girls he talks to.
be what you are
or be nothing
let your stomach hang out
and the wrong side of your face show
don't care if he leaves after he hugs you
be what you are
or be nothing

your eyes are cool steely pools
of pure ***

the drunk man says
what the sober man thinks?

if i just were more confident
if i just were sweeter
if my voice were higher
if my stomach smaller
if my face a better shape
if my laugh a better laugh
if i just adjusted to your every need
like the way you tune my guitar
on my bed
singing to me
(is it to me, or all the girls on my floor?
nightmares argue the case
frightfully)
if only
if only
if only
i was what he wants
i don't even know how to begin

out of my league
like a man holding a gun to my chest
your eyes crinkle
lovingly
loading bullets
between my eyes
out of my league
like a dog with sharp teeth
me,
an overweight ragdoll that you shake
playfully
out of my league
like you're just here to be exposed to someone better
i know the feeling
it's okay
i cut the heartstrings
i'm not even sure if they grow anymore.

do i really prefer blind adoration over quality
because i am frightened to not be the one in control
of who leaves who

twinkle in the field
looked at my face one second too long
was something there?
i didn't see it

it's been a while since i've felt worthless.

you didn't do it on purpose

been a while since i cared

if someone liked another girl better

this sounds like a bad taylor swift song

but the sinking energy

and the sleepy ache

the tired unhappiness

i remember it

i usually cried

i don't cry anymore

because no one matters to me

least of all you

i knew i couldn't have you

i don't get to have things that are pretty or worthwhile

too ugly

too sad.

i can't make decisions
i sit and wish someone else would make them.
eventually they do and i just follow along
playing a part i was gently dropped into.

no more.

no matter how gentle the drop i'm still doing something i don't want
no means no
your will frightens me
you think what you do to me is worth it because you are satisfied
forgetting the living person that you perform your acts on.

*******, devin.
i'm sorry you feel sad
i'm sorry you don't do well in school
i'm sorry you spend your entire day playing a game that gets you no where
but when it comes to the question of my lips
my waist
my neck
my hipbones...
you are not permitted a say in the matter
no matter how "worth it" you think it is
they are mine to command
mine to keep if i so choose
*******,
****
you.

my cousin always gets a new puppy when the last grows up incorrectly:
misbehaving while she's gone,
wrecking home and belongings.

that is how you feel
no, not special or an isolated circumstance
don't bloat yourself on the idea that you are unique to me --
you are every other boy who thinks with his ****
every other boy who seemed playful and innocent
and grew to destroy home and belongings...

this arm belongs to me, this breast
this neck
these thighs
you wreck every one
smiling in your play

i do discard you,
but not before you damage me...
and there is always another
ahead.

want to run back to the frozen frame in late may
shadow on the solid ground with a red tentative foot trying to move forward.
silent frame
quaking inside
tumultuous, skitter-scatter thoughts that always made me doubt my sanity.

want to run back and hold me
want to run back and tell me that to err is human
to doubt is to begin to see the wrong that is happening all around you
to scream is to know
that you are in it
and to know that you are in it
is the first step in getting out

want to run back to that freeze frame
hurt him
hurt him till his face is a blur
so i don't have to see it in my now quiet, late-night thoughts
any longer.

wish his face were gone.
see myself ruining it over
and over
i don't want to be a murderer
but what you did to me
placed such hatred in my heart
that the light cannot comprehend
the darkness that lies dormant.

they all want to think they have qualities that will entice me
dancing beggars throwing text into the air and hoping it falls in pleasing shapes
watching my snapstory and hoping i notice
trickling through my internet stream
laughing at my antics as if they know me
begging superiority by the green sword next to their name
thinking that my biggest problem is clickbait that they can just time out and make disappear.

i entertain you but it's not for you
it's for me.

the flowers grow back now that you're gone
the bamboo loses its sickly pallor
it drinks water now
instead of letting it stagnate.

i don't know how long.
i don't know how many months or days.
time passed is meaningless to me now
i have lost the desire to frantically recall what i lost each day i was with you.

the flowers grow back and i grow strangely around these past events
coming up through the cracks
like a gravelly ****
still inside me
but dormant

sometimes

the feeling that no one is listening
because there are no likes on my latest status
no retweets
no hearts on the face of my instagram
the cement words of the internet do me no good
because no one
is listening
no one hears me
when i speak with floating words or lead-like typography

my self-assurance falters
am i not popular
is this highschool
is all of humanity one big highschool class that doesn't want to sit with me at lunch  
is it the internet that taught me this?

is the internet bad because it is the internet
or is it bad because i am exposed to more humans than i ever would be
normally
is that what
makes it
bad

a lot of things i choose not to write
a lot of thoughts i choose to keep to myself
a lot of fears that i let settle like silt in the back of my mind
i will not write about them
you will not hear about them
you will not know me

people frighten me

your teeth left scars that ate away my peace of mind
pieces of my sanity crumbling under your molars
you consumed the little bits that could stand to sit in a room alone

and

think

they are gone now

school is good
not because i do not think
but because i spend so much time thinking about communications concepts and shakespeare and the romans and all the drama that crashes through my dorm room and shakes down the curtains these things keep me focused  
on everything
except the fact
that you
ruined me

i remember that feeling*

like a dusty childhood memory
of playing in the sun
under the trees
like something that we can recall
but never revisit
she talks about love like it's a stage of life that we move through
not an enduring present

i am the same
it is an illusion we use to torture ourselves with
and the wise choose to forget the crossed stars and the blue lights and the blood trails
we align ourselves by other means
grinding our feet into the ground
cementing the way we interpret human connection

truth and love aren't universal
they are abstract concepts that no one can pin down long enough
to understand
we believe in floating definitions
and base our actions thus
truth and love are bullet-fed cherubs
murdering humankind

can't read my own poetry anymore
because after about a century we lost the ability to navigate by the stars
all just meaningless figures
lights in the sky diluted by a blue light system that didn't save me.

find new faces to trickle through your dreams at night
better yet,
dispel them all

boys will be boys
and i want nothing of it.

new sorrow to make the last
dull against my wrists
i am immune to all knives
because i don't open them anymore

i define myself in my head quite deftly
by the very things i am not.
i am not
in love
i am not strong
i am not loud.

i am not all the things that i show people
like some childhood trinket i took a fancy to
passing it around the circle
waiting for other people to take delight in something that i relish
for a reason that is too simple for me to puzzle through.

i astound myself by how well i play it up
by how convincing my funny stories and shrugging shoulders are.
i am amazed at my ability to *******
(i get it from my mother)
but at the same time appreciative,
because i would be something altogether waif-like and diluted without it.

i depend on being something that i'm not
something that i'm still trying to decipher
something that maybe once was a part of me but got cut away
the year i started slicing my own flesh to drain out the sadness.

i guess what i'm trying to say is...
to the part of me that is loud:
to the part of me that drowns out the silent, open mouth screams and discolored arm-marks and the aching womb:

thank you.

******* nothing threatening to draw me close
hold me like the *** freak in his chest did
stroking my hair and cooing in my ear
dripping words as he puts his hand between my legs

ringed fingers gripping my neck
shoving away my frightened fingers
trying to break free
on the couch
he ruined my favorite movie as a child
taking my body from my control as it played in the background
a sick contrast

jesus reminding me what i am losing
in my mistakes
as i cling to the cross they crucify me on
the man that forces himself on me
a much bigger
more tangible one
than the god that told my father
it was okay
for him to come
stay

don't let it get you.
stop thinking about it.

i can't.
i can't.
i can't.

i'm so tired of talking about it to myself
thinking about it
laying my head on a pillow soaked with the frightening moments -
i want to be at peace.

he never loved me
i excused the abuse because i believed he loved me.

he never loved me.
i let it happen to me for no reason.

i'm not going to say it like you say it
i'm not going to mean it like you mean it
you will say it more often
and i will say it because i have to...
i wanted to wait to say it when i felt it
for once
but you you tricked me
and i am
angry

you're going 60 and i'm going 30
i'm still trying to figure out how not to be a **** victim
i'm still trying to figure out how not to let it happen again
and now
you love me
and i
am
no longer in control

said i love you back because
"third time's a charm"
is a black magic spell too strong for me
couldn't properly deflect it.

why do they care for me so?
is it some trick of the human race
these boys running themselves dry over a fat, small town girl?
is just that out there, somewhere
there are a certain number of people attracted to me
and I for once
am finding them?

and why
why do they do so many bad things to me?
is it simply because they are men
and this is what men know how to do?
****?

he knows what happened to me, and still he pushes boundries.
I punish him with silence.
defeated, I lie facedown in his bed
his hands exploring me...
but without the struggle,
they think it is no fun.

they think there is fun in having something you shouldn't.
they think it is
exciting.

do they think of me
at all
while they do this?
I lie here
unprotected...

they always say they will protect you
but not from their own
harsh
fingers.

"do you have chemistry?"

like we walk into the same room and start to fizzle
like we react together in a complimentary manner
like he could actually pass highschool chemistry.

does it matter?
does it matter if i have nothing to say to him
does it matter that of all people i can't think of a single topic to broach
a silly sentence to embark upon
a single thought
doesn't occur to me.

the stretches of silence are longer than the last one.
with the last, we talked too much.
every silence ached.
with this one, i am glad to not have to talk.
i am glad of the quiet.
i am glad of the lack of chemistry.

he asked me
what i liked most about him
and i thought for a whole afternoon.
the only thing that came to mind was that i liked him because he liked me...
am i that poor?
have i not the self-worth to turn them away when they beg at my feet
why do they beg
anyway
what have i
to offer
i am fat
and very
very
tired
and
afraid...

i used to really like chemistry.
but now i don't see its merit
too many things to memorize
and my memory is **** these days
his brown eyes
slipping out quietly
as i imagine him swelling bigger and bigger -
a grotesque image to smooth out the beautiful ones
that i know were there.

we don't have chemistry,
but we have animal attraction.
perhaps it is something (better) similar.

a rare death.
a year and a half old child
smothering in the wallpaper
burning in the bright lights
wise to the curve of her frame
and another's.

a year and a half old teenager
smoking disobedience in cold bedrooms
aching fists with hearts beating in them
bloodied kneecaps
and discarded underthings.

a year and a half old adult
thighs that bled
welcoming her into womanhood
ringed fingers leading her through the commonplace gates
yanking her by her wrists forward.

a rare death.
a child,
a teenager,
an adult,
a starcrossed lover
cursed with the blood of mother
losing memories like they are guitar picks
or socks
or cherished toys.
losing them because they are important
or needed
or wanted
losing them because growing up is a loss
losing them because loss means you're no longer a loser...

losing them because the memory is too dear to hold onto.

a rare death
of a very commonplace life
guided through a very commonplace gate
by a very commonplace boy
who bestowed upon her
graciously
her un-
virginity.

i suddenly long to forget nights.

chasing white pills down the tangle of my throat,
i am disturbed to remember frantic dreams in the waking moments.

i begin to fear that the air is making me sick
in this closed off room where i sleep and dream
where my neck aches and my stomach burns
where he laid the night he touched the string that would undo everything
that kept me standing.

i want the peace that i felt in the white slab of the rubber gloved doctor's room
beeping gently
looking to see what burned
inside of me

they didn't find it

never loved a boy.
the seventeen yearolds ask me what the last one was
I don't know.

I don't love this one either.
do I love anyone?
truly?

you haven't known me long enough to have the privilege of being rude to me
at least put a label on it before you get offended when I put down your demands for attention
like I owe you my time and affection
if there is anything I've learned over the past year and a half
it's that I don't owe anyone anything

so cool your jets *******
this *** isn't yours yet.

lips still red from the hungry mouth of another boy,
examine your face and wonder what they see.
taste of another boy on your breath
his scent in your hair -
makes me feel like i'm watching what's happening from somewhere else.

it was pretty fast.
but not fast like the last time
there's a new sheriff in town that can't be bought for ear kisses
or rough hands down the back of her pants
this time i said no
and he
stopped.
and that is what i deserve.
not what you did to me.

separating the sheep from the goats with a religious eye,
i protect me now.
not your fragile ego.

someone else in the world thinks i am wonderful enough to kiss.

broken arms
do you harm
do your worst i'm
heaven cursed
heaven cursed

on the bright side i
fall in line with
other faces
screaming dots
on the bright side i
find my place in
darkened corners
hiding spots

broken arms
do you harm
do your worst i'm
heaven cursed
heaven cursed
do your worst.

such a sweet tinkling
to bring such ugly words
you are an animal
you are a monster
you are right
i never deserved you