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.
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 *****-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 happens every year, I get excited Hopeful Giddy That maybe This year will be Different.
Maybe I'll find an awesome friend Who does my nails And answers calls at two am Like Nicole did Before she moved to California
Or she could be like Kayla Who would be silly with me in Drama class And use chocolate sauce for blood In our Black and White movie Before her dad died in combat And she went to bury him in Some foreign country Where cell phones Don't count
Or a boyfriend like Louis That I could see a future with Sitting listening to Relient K In a college dorm With a million years to spare Before he left for London
But the girl in front of me In English Pops her gum for the boy In the next desk And could poke my eye out With her fake straightened hair.
The girl in my drama class Cakes on her mask and Participates in pageant after pageant And calls her anorexia A diet
And I heard the rumor That the boy I thought was cute In chemistry Was caught ******* his Girlfriend Under her desk in Español Dos.
I didn't think my standards were too high to meet.
I once read That in 7.6 billion years The sun Having reached its maximum size Will shine 3,000 times brighter Than it does now I have always wondered How it is possible To know such a thing When 100 years Is beyond a lifetime How we could possibly Look so far into the future When now seems like an eternity And tomorrow is miles away How can we embrace the moment When we are constantly being told to plan ahead And what's the point Of waiting 7.6 billion years When the sun is already Shining And the moon Already loves her?
To the boys who just want to touch me You must know that I am not a momentary happiness type of person Overthinking is my forté My name is not chastity Nor is it easy rather Difficult and complicated Hard to ***** open There is no sweet center waiting to be divulged I am more like the sun A ball of pure fire that burns at the touch Anxious at the thought of unfamilar palms and fingertips Meant to be admired from a distance I will warn you not to get close to me For magnets swim in my blood And I cling to no extent I am Surrounded by a force field I do not let down my guard So if you want to touch me You must first Learn to love me.