When I was 13,
I went up to my mother and told her that I wasn't beautiful because
my eyes were too close together
and that my gut hung lower
and my teeth went out farther.
my hair was too coarse
and my appetite was too large,
my skin was too dark
and my nose was too wide.

When I was 13,
I told my mother that beautiful came in only one size
and one size only
and I happened to be 3 sizes too large.
See I thought that all because I saw it to be true.
Oh how I wished to be that girl in the magazines because even the girl in the magazine wanted to be her.
Oh how I wished on every birthday and new years eve to lose weight and to be pretty.
I struggled so long with this issue of mine.
So long that it became a constant companion by my side.
See I longed for that day when everything would be alright.
For that day when I could look in the mirror and think I looked fine.
For the heavens to open up and the stars align,
crying out the one phrase that would change my mind;
you are beautiful, no matter what size.
See the heavens never opened up and the stars stayed the same
but all I can say is that my mindset changed.
Beautiful comes in many sizes, from extra small to triple extra large.

*-c.a.

Did you really think I could live with this?
Even though you didn’t protect me,
I trusted you.
Welcomed you with open legs,
And as your warm hand shook mine,
I could tell something was wrong.
My skin complexion became three words,
S.T.D.
Muscle aches and pains contracted from top,
To bottom.
No cure.
Everyday I have outbreaks,
Knowing that I can’t break out of this disease.
Burning leads to the nerve paths of my discharge.
****,
Began to ooze out like the secret you never told me.
Unlike you,
I was itching to try and make it go away,
But the itching turned into torn blisters.
Can’t cover up that disgusting smell,
Because if I do, it will only get worse.
Not that it was getting better.
These blue and yellow conversation bumps will never go away,
They just keep talking.
I trusted you.
But you only wanted me for your special needs.
Now I’m in an episode of symptoms
That keeps repeating every time I breathe.
Lungs, feel like hands that turned into swollen glands,
Squeezing,
Until it moves down to my stomach,
Causing me to throw up your guilt.
I should have known something was up when you refused to go get tested.
April 30, 2008,
I’m diagnosed with ******.

For the past few days, my friend has been sick.
He hasn't been able to eat or drink without anything staying down.
It's gotten worse.
He's been stuck in the bed.
He was asked if he wanted to go to the hospital,
and he said no.
I feel like if I would have known,
He would be alive.
It could have only taken one conversation to change his mind,
Now he's dead,
and I want to go with him.
My friend Chloe sent me that in a text message.
She's going through depression.
She blames herself for her best friends death,
Because she couldn't get in contact with him.
She hasn't been at school for 4 days.
She's not answering anyones phone calls,
So I text her:
Chloe,
Now i'm in your shoes.
Your'e my best friend.
Don't slay your soul because a part of your life has disappeared,
I still need you,
Like you needed him.
Even though he is no longer here,
I can be your comfort zone.
This feeling should not choke hold your final decision,
Visions of your grave should not flash before your eyes,
Your'e only 17 and your epitaph should not be created yet.
Don't cut your life-line because his phone line is disconnected,
I'll be at the other end.
Instead of popping pills, lets pop conversations everyday,
I'll be your anti-depressant.
Life is too short for you to cut your life short because your best friend is dead.
I walked in your shoes,
Now it's time for you to do the same for me.
Tighten the laces,
and see how it feels when your best friend tells you she wants to die.
Chloe,
I was able to have this conversation with you.
I pray that it changes your mind because,
Losing a best friend,
Over losing a best friend,
Isn't worth it.

Let me whisper you a world spread in open-palm
   and lay you wide-pictures etched in cobble-stone
   till your feet find their way in the wake of alt-time

Let me grow you orchards on margins of probabilities
   and capture breezy-smiles to place upon your sleeve
   till illumined-steps of afternoon crumble before angels

Let me turn the planets on fingertip high upon wheel-rim
   and show you matte mirror-lakes of superb-chances
   till the evening-sky feels the shy-tiptoe of moon-kiss


please… let me….?


S T -  4 dec 13