I was bullied from kindergarten to freshman year.

I loved to imagine a tall boy
three inches taller exactly,
just tall enough that
each kiss would have to happen
on my tip toes
and riding on his back
would feel just like
flying.

His hair would be dark brown
and his eyes would be
unremarkable
a brown so dark that others
would think it black
no one else would get close enough
to tell the difference
and no one else would love them
as I did
just as I hoped my eyes would look
to someone else
some day.

He wouldn’t speak much
to other people
his words would mean much
but only to those
who could understand what he meant
and I would be the first
to major in his language
but I would never teach it
to any but our children.

He would look at me
like I personally rose the sun
and hung the stars at night
I would be so high in his regard
that my word would be law
and he would never doubt
anything I said
and even when I lied
obvious and wide eyed
sarcasm dripping from my lips
he would believe me

He would visit me in school
to sit with me at lunch
walking slowly
past the girls who told me
‘no one will ever love you’
and ‘who would ever want to kiss
a face like yours?’
He would prove them wrong right there
at the table they shunned me to
kissing me in full view of everyone.

He would dress in leather
and his hair would be greased
combed back just like a bad boy
he would have a motorcycle
and a car he never drove
and his jeans would be
perfectly between baggy and skinny

He would call me
His Girl
and if anyone messed with me
he would narrow his eyes in such a way
that made them fear for their lives
My bullies would never bother me again.

He would describe my skin
with words like silky, soft and succulent
ebony, stately, and irresistible
but never would he compare its color
to any sort of food
except perhaps sugar
when speaking of the taste.

I built him in the lonely hours
when eyes followed me
and whispers rose behind my back
I made sure that for every insult
tossed my way like live grenades
he threw back with easy confidence
as though my life were a game of COD.

My hair was never too wild
too big or too ‘ethnic’
My lips were just the right size
to **** the breath straight from my lungs
He didn’t care if I shaved my legs
and he liked my sense of style.
He didn’t mind if I was wearing
basketball shorts and too big tshirts,
and he told me that tight clothing
left nothing to the imagination anyway
and besides he didn’t want the other boys
to see what they’d missed.
He didn’t care that I was as boyish
as I was shy
and he knew that the wall I built around myself
wasn’t all there was to me
and he always knew just what I needed,
and sometimes when I was lonely
he showed up just to give me a hug.

And when I got to high school
He shaped how I saw things
He always told me I was beautiful
and if no one else could see that, it was their loss.
He told me that there was never anything wrong with me
and if no one else could see that
then **** Them and All They Stand For.

He faded back into my subconsciousness,
speaking to me though I never truly
thought of him the way he’d been
He stopped bursting into classrooms
to show others what they were missing
and he started whispering an idea
that I didn’t need him anymore.

I would pass a reflection of myself
and He would lift my chin
‘Look how beautiful you are.’
He knew when I was sad,
and promised it was only temporary.
He smiled and gave me thumbs up
when I doubted and shook with nerves.
And with him I could cope.
And soon without him I could too.

Now when I passed mirrors
I lifted my chin myself.
‘Look how beautiful I am’.
and when I was sad
I told myself it was only temporary.
I gave myself smiles,
and I laughed at myself,
and I learned to love me as I’d always imagined
he did.
Unconditionally.