In another life,
I would not be the girl
I am today.

I would not be
too pale
too freckley
too fat
too awkward
too lonely
too quiet
too much of a pushover
too oily
too pimpley
too plain.

In another life
I imagine myself
as a silent assassin.
With power and might;
I glide the rooftops
and dominate the night.

In another life
I am a sassy bad girl.
I'd pop off in seconds,
and attack with cunning skill,
so that none would mess with me,
unless they'd want to get killed.

In another life
I am a thin and hollow body,
a nameless maiden who roams
halls of white tile.
Donned in a buckled down
white jacket that crosses
at the arms so I constantly
get to hug myself.

In another life
I am not
the girl I am today.
I would be someone,
with a story worth telling.

My mother keeps dropping hints
About the increase in size of my waist
About the decrease in space between my legs
"Are you really going to eat that?"
"You shouldn't be snacking that much."
"If you're hungry, you should probably just drink water."
"That won't digest well if you eat it now."
"You know that's going straight to your gut."
Sometimes in the silence of our house late at night I can hear her whispering, "You're not good enough."

I love you too, mom.

My heart stopped,
I couldn't breath,
I started bleeding
from my mouth,
I had a seizure.
In that time
I accepted death
then I woke up
****** up.