Be happy alone (but be happier with a man).
Be sad, (but don't show it).
Be stupid, be smart, fall for all of our plots.
Be this! Be that! Be YOU!
(Be just unique enough that you are just like our other 1,000,000 readers).

Laugh a lot with your perfectly straight teeth.
(Don't let them see the stains from the acid that creeps).
Lose it, curb it, fight it, crunch it, boost it, control it.
**** him, tease him, **** him, blow his mind
(but don't be a ****, because nobody likes a stupid ****).

You're not wearing the right jeans,
You're not wearing the right shirt,
(But they'd probably look better if you followed these steps to lose 5 pounds in 5 days)
((and dyed and cut your hair))
(((and put your makeup on just right)))

love yourself (just enough to lose yourself,)
because then,
then you are on the path to improvement.
you are one step closer to that
(hand selected, perfectly manicured, potentially, possibly, probably starving)
model,
(who is still not quite good enough to make it without photoshop).

Because Kate Moss tells me,
“Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels,”
and maybe she's right.

Because this fat doesn't sit quite right,
it lumps and bumps. It muffin tops.
It's sloppy, I'm lazy, I eat too much
Maybe I should cut my carbs
and meat
(and everything in between)

Because my size 8 self is plus size to the ones that control my mind.
Because to be a plus is really a negative,
and to be a zero really means that I'm a ten.
Because to be skinny is to succeed.
And to succeed is to win.
And winning is all part of the system, right?

So, yes Cosmo, I'll pluck and shave.
I'll flirt and curl
I'll cut and count
I'll smile and cry
I'll **** and blow
I'll smoke my eyes and cover up my zits
I'll use my mirror to photoshop out every flaw that makes me beautiful
and maybe, maybe someday I'll be just as lifeless as the girls in your magazine.

My headphones are broken.
The music comes in muffled,
from only one ear.
It's soothing.
But it carries no weight.
No substance.
The words don't make sense.
I can barely make them out.
It sounds familiar,
and I'm nostalgic for the blurry memory,
In the back of my mind.
The full song watches and listens,
And matters so much more.
But my headphones are broken,
And it doesn't sound the same.

All I care about is your happiness.*

It really means,
I hope you will never be as happy as you could be,
if you were with me.

I just want you to be happy.

It really means,
I hope you cry yourself to sleep at night,
because I'm not there.

I hope you're happy.

It really means,
I hope I am always happier without you,
than you are without me.

The orchid is dead.

The “just because” orchid you bought me when things first started to feel rocky
is dead.

That delicate, fragile thing.

It’s hard to say what really killed it.
It wasn’t doing well from the beginning.
Perhaps it came to me a little broken.
Perhaps it had some fatal flaw that meant it would’ve died no matter what I did.

But overwatering it certainly didn’t help.


I think I might be stuck wondering for a while,
did I **** something beautiful or did you just present me with a dying flower?

Either way,
it’s dead.

I threw it away today.

It's funny how clouds can be
              both
       the Villain
                 & the
                       Heroine
The sun both
Kind  
   & Harsh.

I have past lovers who played the
Villainous Heroine
         & those whose light
                just left me with
a burn.

[I'm sorry for ever thinking this]

I feel like something is broken in
                                            the universe
  otherwise
           you  &  I
                          would still be
                                  us.

Dear Universe,
I'm trying to trust you.

My heart is
     bro
          ken
But at least I am
    d
     r
       i
        p
         p
           i
      ­     n
             g
                     with poetry