My heart is like a paperclip
Flexible but tough
It will bend and hold its shape
But play with it too much
And it will break
Blood pumps
Pumps...
Pumps...
And stops
Love...and paperclip hearts

This poem was written after watching a few hours of slam poetry on Youtube. Let me know what you think...it's my first shot at slam poetry.*

There are so many words flowing around out there about the big girls. The thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls. About their plush and soft exteriors, their abundant backsides, their willingness to accept themselves and their hopefulness that others will do the same. Their….thereness.
They are beautiful, don’t get me wrong.
They are beautiful.

But what about the skinny girls?

The small girls with petite builds and large hearts and an aversion to the word short. The size two and under girls, the drive thru can’t gain a pound girls, the I AM NOT ANNOREXIC OR BULLEMIC girls.

The girls who will always be referred to as “pixie-like” or “waif-like” or “twig-like.” The perfect model body girls that all of the other girls hate…because of their lack of fat.

Aren’t they beautiful?

The girls with the size 32 bust line, the girls who, at 24, still shop in the junior sections of department stores. The girls who, regardless of their age, their strengths and weaknesses, their experiences, heartaches and joys, disappointments and triumphs, their want or need for life and love will always look like they missed a meal or gave it back purposefully with the intent of becoming even thinner. The girls who, no matter how ******* HARD they try, cannot even weigh 100 lbs soaking ******* wet.

Aren’t they beautiful?

The big girls have to search and search for cute and **** and attractive clothes because of their size. Guess what? So do the skinny girls. Do you know ******* hard it is to find a pair of pants with a size zero waist and a 34 inch leg? To finally find an extra small shirt that doesn’t have one of the top three cartoon characters of the time plastered across the front?

All I’m saying is yes, the thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls…
They are beautiful.

But ******, so am I.

Death
Is here
For you
Tonight
Stay
Awake
Or you
Will die
Come
To me
My child
Of night
Love
The moon
And die

You aren’t there
In memories
My memories of love
I’m happy

Moments of memories
Memories of happiness
With a ghost

Feeling nothing
No bad memories
Just ghosts

Waiting…
Waiting…
Waiting…
How could you?

Trust is lost
Faith is lost
I stayed

Ended for us
Not by us

Best decision I couldn’t make

Summer afternoons
Simple joy of holding hands
Alone under a tree
Only you

Surprise first kiss
Watching you trip out of my house
I laughed

Falling quickly in love
And hitting hard…

Harder than anyone deserves

Lightning strikes through the darkening haze
Piercing shadows with its bright blaze
Thunder rumbles like a sad moan
Sounding sad because it’s all alone
A tree falls in the distance somewhere
You jump, just a little, you weren’t expecting the scare
Lightning strikes, once, twice, three times
You hear fire crackle in the distance
A kid with a bag of dimes
Leaves rustle beside you, you see eyes, that’s not good
Your instinct says to run, you’re not crazy, everybody’s would
Your mind says to run, flee, get away!
But you don’t move a muscle, you just stay
Lightning strikes again, you then see the masked face
You breathe a sigh of relief, and regain your pace
Your movements scare you little friend
He runs into the trees
You lock eyes with another, she also turns and flees
Many things are seen and heard, on a late night walk alone
Listen and learn about the things that surround you
Just another surprise going home