i would love to be
skinny, pretty with a little
bit of fierceness
but why do i look
as if i wasn’t good enough

never the brainy
nor the beauty
i was always a second
choice, chance,
or even a lead in my life
i never became my own
because people
kept being too good

they kept stepping on
what i do
and they do better
i was an average asian
looking a little bit rosy tan
with a hint of korean spice
by my eyes
who was envied by others
but good-looking eyes didn’t
stand out
because makeup kept
shattering the concept
of natural beauty

we were all being fake
to the society full of hidden truths
they showcased
thin-*** bodies
abused by strict diets
and pressure
full of greed.

your curves are **** beautiful
your legs that show tiger marks
your thighs that were created by streaks of waves
the arms and calves build with love

they are criticized
judged by the eye of everyone
hello? is this fat?
*** that’s gross
they say
avoiding contact with
the realistic things
words do cut deeper than knives
and the thoughts were too cruel running
in my veins me being fed

so i changed
ate a little
starved myself
commitment to such
self abuse
being embarrassed of
how the curves of my body shapes me
why oh why?
who are you now
now i’ve got
bruises forming everywhere
on my body
scarring my pale tan skin
or should i describe it
as ash gray dead?

never would’ve thought that every words
that build up in my mind
became so life threatening
how they slay my emotions
and torture me
with pressure

sorry dear self for making you suffer
trying to fit in the wrong crowd
taking all these diets and pills
to make myself gorgeous
but in the end
the smile begun to fade
dark circles started to show up
and my perfect days were daunted
by the sickness of me,
anorexia.

Who are you
to tell me
to wear a Salwar kameez or a turtle neck
Who are you
to say that my body lacks flesh
Who are you
to make my body a symbol of *** appeal
Wait!!
you are no one
But someone who
Doesn't embrace one's body
Because
For me
My body is not a piece of meat
My body is not up for a bid
Moreover
You are no one
To tell me
To veil my ***** with blotter
And my hips with a rucksack
You better
Keep your ravenous eyes away
That try to strip me with its gaze
But say whatever you want to say
Because now i don't bother about your ******* comments anyway.

I feel ugly.
Like,
the dark spots on a full moon.
The burning skin under the crisp sun.
The harsh stain of vibrant colours on a canvas.
The violent shade of the monsoon cloud.
The rustic smell of an old key.
The sad wrinkles on a tree trunk.
The tired stretch marks on a shabby body.
Or,
the birth of a life.
I feel less. I feel pigmented.
I feel lost. I feel strange.
This is my beauty to taste.
To embrace.

Her only vice was that of ****** promiscuity
You couldn’t blame her—the girl had daddy issues,
Body issues, the blood red American 
bit her lip, and
hit a rip, then

flicked the tip

Don’t blame her she blamed herself enough, she
Popped, snapped, snorted, puffed, ******, squirted
A sweet escape hypodermically inserted
Straight to the               heart of Texas 
She had her lo               ng list of exes
Vices collect                   their dues.