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.

Hey you're more than pretty. You're gorgeous. You're eyes sparkle brighter than any star. Your smile beats the moon. Your hair is so much fun to play with. Remember not to starve, purge, cut, tear, stab, poke, burn, scratch. There's no need too. I don't need to see your face to know your beautiful. I don't care what the mirror says. You deserve to know the ugly truth. You will always be beautiful and there's nothing you can say or do to change that.

Wow...
Where does one begin?
until it hits out of nowhere ---
Life is good, even though not perfect
Looking up, yet sinking; spiraling into mud

Dragged under; hard to breathe;
unable to see; cannot hear;
don't want to live

The heart grows weary
can't eat; sleep eludes
How do you keep?

Knowing it's not what you want
struggling to overcome
the pull so Strong
How to withstand?

Blurred visions,
voices in your head
losing your job
the sun is dead

Finally, if one is strong --
saying to one-self
"I'm too far gone "
making an effort to climb out of that mess

Fighting those demons to regain success

Unable to sing; dance; tap; play the piano; run a race or swim
I pick up a Pen and then ...

Words flow faster than the brain can go

Wanted to get an intervention of help
Which would have placed me in a world of debt

Thoughts are dense, heart heavy with worry
Can't spew out the words to another, even if I tried

Uncomfortable, embarrassed,
Feelings of stupidity - permeates my outer-self
But then;
My Pen -

The ink flows
I feel better
as I can let it all out on paper

Don't want your sorrow
Knowing there is a better tomorrow
This, is my hell
So I call upon the mighty power -
Of my Pen

There is therapy in the pen
It sets me free
Lightens the weight of my gait
Puts a smile in my eyes
And sunlight at my feet