I wandered slowly
Through sidewalk cracks and broken pavements
Finding my own piece of Gethsemane
So that people would know I exist

I was a ghost
To eyes that didn't even care to look
A boring book
To minds that didn't even bother to read
A blank canvas
To those who didn't even try to understand

That I was somebody

All of them only saw me as an empty bottle
Not knowing I just want to be filled with silence
Because silence is a beautiful symphony
And I am the conductor

I am a human being capable of owning a soul and
Live through a thousand lifetimes

I was never the boring book
In fact, I am the author
Writing my own story on Life's pages

I am an artist
A dreamer who can create masterpieces even on
A blank canvas such as myself

But most of all, I am an introvert
A carapace even I consider a home
Because it makes me who I am and
Not because of what you say I am

You are the most
Beautifully destructive force I've ever seen

Careful.
I’m fragile.
A heart made of glass.
Reflecting light throughout myself with each passing glance.
Shimmering,
A diamond.
But not as strong as I seem.
If I cut through glass does that mean I cut through myself?
Ruby seeps from my slippers staining the floor.
There is no place like a dream.
Opalescent,
but empty.
Carved from hopeless tears that dropped and froze.
Sharp edges melt if you hold them close enough.
And fill up the open space if you chase away the cold.
Crystal,
A gem.
Galaxies swirl and spin as you play with my emotions.
A vortex of sweltering heat turning
glass,
a diamond,
an opalescent crystal,
Into a compliant putty in your hands,
Soft and yielding after your warmth shattered the frost encasing it.
Careful,
I’m fragile.
Though even if I am engulfed by flames.
I can't promise I won't covet the burn.

Your voice is still soft
And the only pitch that can
Soothe my aching soul

It made me
Sick.

The kind of sick
That books describe
As green,
Ghostly skinned
With red rust noses.

Sick to my stomach
Like when you wake up
At 2:00 AM
And realize that
Something
Is
Not
Right
Before you sprint
Down the hall
To the bathroom
And ***** pizza bagels into the
Pristine marble sink.

It made me sick like
When it gets so bad that
Blowing your nose hurts
Because the extra soft Kleenex
Have scratched your skin raw
Over
And
Over
Again.

It made me sick
When I realized
That it wasn't you that I loved
But the feeling of being loved.

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.