i look you directly in the eyes and tell you i hate you
that was never something new,
i point at you and say disgusting things
you're a coward, you are
you can't do anything for yourself
you are robbing me of years worth of fun and i hate you for it
it's all you, you, you
it's all your fault that I hate you
i hate what you look like
i hate how you speak
i hate how you're never happy
as i point in the mirror and say nasty things, the person i hate lives in the mirror i look in everyday
you and i are just an insecure child in the body of a large human
we are one but i refuse to recognize it
because i hate you so much
but why do i cry so much when i tell you i hate you
and as i look in the mirror and point my finger at you
i say one last thing,
"i don't know who you are, but i hate you with all my guts"
two seconds after i cry i either start watching veggie tales or write and as you can tell by how many posts i have, i usually watch veggie tales
maybe i should take my tags seriously soon
I shall feast tonight
feast on the things I wish I was
and feast on what I desire
you are what you eat, after all
I shall feast tomorrow
I'll stab everything with a fork
scoop everything out with a spoon
and devour it, devour it all!
I shall feast for weeks to come
I'll force myself to become what I'm crunching on
whether it be the sweetest personality, or the bitterness of a new look
anything I desire, I willingly swallow
I shall feast forever
feast forever on gender, appearance, and a personality
and I will eat it
I will cram everything down my throat and consume everything
Yet after I eat all the things I want
I shall never be satisfied
with what I've become
and this glorious feast
will last for eternity
as I willingly overfeed myself
to a far-fetched dream
that I shall never reach
My father always ate with the large fork.
that fork is discomforting for my small hands,
but it perfectly fits his rugged hands.
My mother and I always ate with the small forks.
Our hands were small, delicate.
But it perfectly fits our tender hands.
The utensils were always separated,
little cupboards and drawers,
although all the forks went to the same drawer.
As I set the table for tonight’s meal,
there was no small fork left for me.
Awkwardly, I ate in stillness with the large fork.
In this miniature, blank, dwelling.
— The End —