Looking back at photos of me looking happy
A nice slim figure
No extra weight to carry
No face to be ashamed of

I have a house with no mirrors
Because I get disgusted by myself
When I happen to see a glare in a window
I only feel tears

"I'll call you sometime," he says as leaves.
That will never happen, ive so many times learned
He looked repulsed when he saw me
And my stomach just turned

Even my family feels hopeless
That one day I'll look lean
Around the table aouside we relaxed.
Later They hint I'm too fat
On my fat giant ***, the chair too small where I sat

Diets and cleanses
Jogging and biking is pointless
As fat just seems to add
I just get more sad


Nobody knows in the dressing room I cry
After rejection I sob
After a meal I feel guilty
When I breathe and I live
It seems so silly

But maybe one day I'll be happy and skinny
I won't be alone, eating won't feel like I'm sinning
So the mirrors that I threw out
The pants that are huge
The face disgustingly ugly
The way I look, I have no excuse.

I sit here depressed at 2 AM
and I can't help but wonder where the time went
when did I go wrong and fall lose off track
of my life, it causes fluttering heart attacks
I feel solitary may bring solidarity
I yearn to progress personally to singularity

But I'm stuck in a rut and mud is taking over
The Earth covers me with blankets, pulls me closer,
A warm hug isn't what I want but what I needed
From all these thoughts my brain is too heated
and I'm scared of what's to come
my friends are gone, if I ever had one

I enter and leave this world by myself
my life just one page in the dustiest book on the shelf
It scares me that I won't be remembered
my words service to see my image rendered
in minds and hearts of those I have touched
And with you the touch was too much

I lay my hand upon your heart
and it burned in, I can see the mark
I'm not a bad person, but who am I?
I take my body and throw it up to the sky
A scar is what I left on you
I can't heal it, not even with superglue

but you will live on, and so will I
and the only thing for us to do is try
march your feet in the onward direction
and at the end we meet our reflection

Perhaps this is exactly what I need
Cause for awhile all I have done is bleed

i'd ask for more if
you'd hear me say
things of depth and circumstance
in ways i can't convey

within earshot
i would hear the whispers
from a divine warmth
underneath sheets
near-silent songs
of how you
think you could love me

arms length could
have us close enough
to hear hearts beating
between the both of us

rain storms
bringing closer
rhythmic patterns
with the drops
skin serene
& soft

but impartial is the universe
our minds distractible
our feet hardly
ever on the ground

& these words i write
could never capture
the essence i dream you portray

these miserable hands
that lament loss
of a thing yet even obtained

they don't know how
to grasp gently enough
the hands of grace
& divine warmth

when i feel lonely
i'll conjure your caress

it was time hardly spent
but well spent nonetheless

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

I never understood how both
a self-obsessed egomaniac
and a hopeless romantic
could inhabit one body;
perhaps it is the reason
I have spent so much time
in front of the mirror, hating myself.