I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.

Your worth cannot be measured
by the circumference of your waist
or the width of your delicate hips

And though his lips will plant onto yours
and others may call you revolting
it shall never measure your worth

And when it comes to valentines day
and the only roses you received
were the ones your mother sent you
It cannot measure your worth

Because your worth cannot be measured
you shall repeat it again
your worth will not be measured
by numerals,words, or objects
not ever
your worth cannot be measured
but you are enough, unbelievably enough

My mind roams through a wilderness
Of imagination,
Only to reach a wrought-iron wall
At my lips.
The filters of polite society won't let me
Speak,
Won't let me scream "*******!"
To their soft-mannered prejudices
That gather in the bottom of glasses of
Expensive champagne.

Hurt me once
Hurt me twice
Leave a scar
Haunt my life

See me fall
See me break
Laugh at what
I cannot take

Make me love and
Grant my wish
Seal it all
With a painful kiss

Emotionally torn
Exhausted, abused
A hazy fog
Perpetually confused

Gone right now
Gone for good
Life played out
The way it should

Yet still you lurk
And steal my breath
Our unknown thoughts
An inevitable death

Dear society,

I have no "thigh gap"
nor any desire to wear makeup,
but I am still as beautiful
as the cover model on the
Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

Make sure to include me in the next issue.

Sincerely,
Wistful Wanderer