Is there anything else to blame
when you finally look at yourself?

a severed head can last about 6 minutes long after being removed from a body and i couldn't even last a couple seconds after you said we could no longer be friends.

I used to believe that humans
were beautiful creatures,
meant to be admired.
There was a wall
between them and I
I loved them so,
But could never be like them.
Until the day I realized,
That I was the one in the cage,
Kept to be gawked at.
I was the one who
could never be free.

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.

There once was a boy who loved the moon,
He wasn't liked the rest.
For him, the girls would swoon,
Devotion proved a test.

The girls would come and go,
All with broken hearts.
"I hate you, boy" he said, "I know",
Bluntness was his art.

Then she came and made him feel,
He knew it'd be his doom.
But when they kissed, it felt so real..
He considered becoming a groom.

Then one day she decided to leave,
The boy didn't know what to do,
Without the girl he couldn't breathe.
He thought she felt that way too..

Finally one night, he figured it out,
But it wasn't something to boon.
He was sure, without a doubt,
She was the girl who loved the moon.