I remember being me.
What's it like to be you?
Somebody asked me once, and I said it was... normal.

But in truth, it was like having this massive black hole of power in my core.

Being me:
Knowing that if I didn't smile at someone of a morning
They'd spend the rest of the day hating their brain, thinking their name was on everybody's lips
For all the wrong reasons.

Being me:
Knowing that if I wore heels and a tank top,
A girl two years younger than me would start to tweet
About wanting to diet
Not an hour after we say our goodbyes, me towering over her as I hug her loosely,
Because my ribs would hurt her otherwise.

Being me:
Knowing I have some wash of beauty on my features
Knowing my impossible curves rival Helen of Troy's
And knowing my detachment meant the end
Between me and my only honest friend.

Being me:
Never asked to do anything,
Because it was obvious I was too busy, my hands too soft.
But secretly lonely, and outside plotting plants with my father,
Because he's the best girlfriend I've ever had.

Being me:
Painting pretty pictures.
Well done darling girl.
Do you want to see my book of self portraits?
They're perfectly ugly, in black and white, and I love every one.

Being me:
Hating every girl who looks at you funny
Saying no to every other guy,
Because I'm waiting for the day you look at me funny.
Saying yes to everything you ask, because I'm stupid, and I'll play your games
Though you're not perfect.

Being me:
Saying goodbye to all my friends last May,
And not hearing from a single one of those petty people.
I think they'd had enough of pretty people.
And I think I can say the same.

I remember being me.

Being vibrant.
Being brighter than the sun.
Being much too harsh to look at.