That I'm cute
Beautiful
Pretty

And I tell them that
It's okay that I'm not
Because I know I'm not
But I don't like being lied to

I know I'm not
Because I can't let tears
Drip down my cheeks
As they shimmer in the dim light
Of the movie credits

I sob until
My face is red and damp and puffy
And I'm clinging to your sleeve
And just crying so uncontrollably
That people sitting next to us
In the dark theater
Might glimpse over to see if maybe
I have a reason to cry so hard.

Does shehave cancer?
Is she missing a leg?
Did her crack-addict mother die when she was an infant?
Why is this bratty straight white blonde girl crying while watching Selma/Dallas Buyer's Club/The Help?

I have to brush my hair
Instantly
When I get out of the pool
In the summer
(Hopping from foot to foot of course
Because the sun has baked the concrete)
Because if I don't
It becomes a half-curly knotted mess.

And if I don't braid it directly after that
Then it dries
In resemblance to a Yield Sign
In a somewhat triangular form

And I'm chubby.
Not fat. It would be better if I were fat.
If I were fat then things would be
Proportionalish
But instead I'm just
A 5'2 and 3/4" girl
With DDs that no one wants
Because "***** don't count when you're chubby"
And baby fat that lounges on my stomach
No matter how many kilometers I row.

My fingers are too small for my hands.
My glasses make my eyes look huge.
My lips are forever chapped.
My cheeks are overly red.
My eyes are too dark to be pretty
And I know it.
I know all of it.

I've lived in my body for longer than you have.
So don't lie to me.
Don't tell me that I'm cute
Beautiful
Or god forbid pretty
Because I really
Really
Hate being lied to.

It was my cousin's wedding reception,
And I wore some creamy lacey dress
That had to be approved of by my mother
Before I shoved it in a bulging duffel bag to endure the
Six hours of Dunkin Donuts bathroom stops
And that weird stop-and-go traffic that makes me
Feel like the color green.

As I stood at the brim of the dance floor,
Trying to ignore the half-drunk staggering relatives of mine,
I thought about whether it's
Polite to pry your eight inch
Torture-o-thon heels
From your swollen toes
Before anyone else bothers.

There was a boy on the other end of the disco lights,
A silhouette that I knew to be slightly more muscular than the last time I'd seen it.
Just about my age, or maybe eight months older if you had to ask him,
Which I had about thirteen years earlier
With some sand in the crotch of
My Gymboree bathing suit.

I tried my best not to look over.
The lights mostly blinded me,
But I still wished to glance at him to see how straight his teeth were and how his acne had cleared up
Because of
Neutrogena SkinID Plus
Or something.

I could tell that he was looking at me,
At the too short lacey dress
And my straight teeth
And my peachy skin
And I wanted so badly to peek over.

I wanted him to ask me to dance,
Please oh God ask me to dance.

(Of course he didn't.)
He was a shy kid, even at seventeen.
He didn't say a word to me all night,
Even though we'd gone to the beach together
Since I was in Huggies.

The soul he needs,
It should be wise.
It should be sweet.
It should care.
Their feelings should be strong, but not too overwhelming.
It must like the closeness of his body.
The soul he needs,
Must be strong.
It must be tender.
The soul he needs,
Should be a soul like his.

Behind me and my daughter
In line for the Ferris wheel
Perhaps when you are older
You will find breastfeeding
Is the least nasty thing
Your child will do

Wait for the projectile *****
The diaper explosions
Snot handed to you
So kindly like a present
Wait for the strangers to ask you
"So when do you plan to get your body back?"

My body never left
It did the most badass thing
Any body could ever do
What have you done
With the beautiful sharp mind and body
God has given you?
Used your eyes and words
To judge other women
Looked at your tummy in the mirror and thought
"I should be skinnier."

It is a shame,
Women ought to stick together
So I'm going to tell you now
Your bodies are amazing
Magical, you might say
Life giving, you're **** right
Do not judge me
Say that my nursing toddler is nasty
Look at her face,
How can you be so cruel?
For ***** sake,
It's just a ******
I can see more of you
Pre-thirteen
In your crop top and skinny jeans
Than you can of me

last time I saw you,
I sunk into film
until my eyes were deep enough
to see that off-white show flickering
in the distance.
over and over again,
the leading male’s heroine
with red lips and sharp shoulders
stuck the needle in the bend of her arm
until her windows were worth a quarter each
and her bubble gum
was infected.
yes,
your cinematography is gripping:
I can almost see what she doesn’t want you to know
I can almost see her mother’s first chance
to become her father’s last chance
at owning a pick-up truck
with blankets in the back
and two dimes and a nickel
worth of whatever you are now.
lady,
this placebo effect
has gone too far.
you are not the main attraction
to this drive-in,
your name should only be in lights
when you want it to be.

I recently agreed to leave my body to science
In return for free cremation & disposal services.
But I insisted on one small qualifier,
A precise stipulation that
The first-year medical student, to which
My cadaver is assigned,
Be female & lovely,
Brilliant & curious,
Fevered & insane,
Seeking a miracle cure for broken hearts.
The damaged among us,
Yearn for a magic elixir,
Some long lost potion,
Arcane & miraculous,
Insightful & perfect in simplicity.
A man who truly loved women,
My last woman dissects me,
I, a species of man she would master.
Cuts out my heart and weighs it,
Divines my psychology from slice of spleen.
Or liver, toxic, cirrhotic,
Surely, random entrails hold some key to me.
I--in all my incandescent incongruity--
Must render up some gender-specific clue,
As to what it is men really want;
Proving, again, the simplest answer is best.