This is a story
Of the girl who was never the prettiest.
She was never the skinniest
Never the most popular
Never the absolute smartest
Never invited to all of the parties.
She was above average,
But never the best.
This is the story
Of the girl
Who lived to make everyone around her happy.
The girl who knew what it felt like to hurt
Knew what sobbing sounded like
Late in the night
When no one else was around.
This is the story of the girl
Who held her emotions inside
Because she wanted to help others
Instead of focusing on herself.
The story of the girl who forgot what happy
Felt like.
She forgot what it was like
To wake up in the morning
And not worry about what people might read in her face
Might see in her eyes
Might think about her appearance.
She couldn’t stop wondering
Why people never noticed
That underneath her perfectly composed
Wonderfully put together
Outer layer,
She was tearing at the seams.
This is the story of a girl
Who was living life
On the edge of a breakdown
Until her fall-down
Brought her around.
This is the story of the girl
Who got out of her town
Was forced to figure out who she was
And finally got the opportunity to make herself happy.
Finally stopped caring
What other people might think.
The girl
Who kissed the girl
Because that’s what was going to make her happy.
The girl
Who held her hand
Because that’s what she wanted to do.
The girl
Who came back home for break
And told her friends,
Through the terror and with a shaking voice,
That she has a girlfriend now
And she’s finally happy.
And listened with relief
As her two best friends
Said the things she always knew they would say.
“I don’t care who you like.
I don’t care what you do.
I’m glad you’re making yourself
Happy.”

I get the impression
that you like me the way you like dessert:

praising my appearance, presentation,
eyeing a swirl of cream,
licking your lips at the sparkle of glacé

Anticipation.

When you cradle me gently
in the curve of your silver spoon:

your tongue samples my sweet delight,
fleeting flavors hold your senses enraptured
the lingering aftertaste beckons

More.

Your silver spoon scrapes
the bottom of the glass bowl:

melted cream pools languidly,
my last sweet aftertaste slips from your tongue
while you do the dishes.

I'm out here on a limb
D
A
  N
   G
     L
      I
      N
       G
Like a leaf on a tree in late autumn, yellow and spotted and dry, close to falling into the breeze that'll carry me away, far away from my home to the ground where I'll lay until the wind picks me back up only to place me somewhere new and foreign and unknown effortlessly.

I am out here on a limb.
You've already flown away and I see how you go with the wind and you flow with ease and it's all so simple for you; you let your troubles, and therefore yourself, "go with the flow" and now you're floating away into the horizon where people go once they've let go of the barriers and ties holding them back.

I am out here on a limb.
I'd like to follow and float and be free and land wherever the wind takes me, just like you bravely did. You let go and I haven't let go of my limb or you, though the wind is relentless so maybe it'll tear me away without my consent but right now you're floating away and I want to allow the wind to take me too but the uncertainty of whether we'll land somewhere close by is too immense to fathom, so I'll hold onto the limb and watch you float away and know that it's probably for the best that you're floating away
                                           from me.

Turns out I was your limb all along.
Watching you bud last spring, grow and form before my eyes in the summer, begin to wither by fall and float away in the icy-cold, biting winds of winter because I sent you there without knowing I even did so.

You went out on a limb.
You grew and us died and you left and I can't follow you this time because you're finally free and I can't hold onto you forever, not when the winds turn to warm breezes and you finally feel at ease floating away from me. The seasons came, we changed, you left, and I became a leaf on a tree refusing to leave because even if I did leave my own limb of comfort, the wind would keep us apart and it's for the better.

You were on a limb.
And now that you're floating away I can fully see just how lovely and peaceful you are,
because you are without
                                         me.