Don't chase, value, love or need
Mass produced replacable things
We seek with hopes they'll make us whole
They'll fill your house but not your soul

Don't skip the ocean to buy souvenirs
Or that's all you'll have in 20 years
Memories, people, experiences, time
You can buy more decor but clocks can't rewind

I hate those people,
who ponder every moment in their life.
Injuries don't hurt them when from the knife
People who struggle to break free from strife.

I hate those people,
who search for their own origin.
The meanings of loss, and of win.
People who stray from their kin.

What are we, but figures of skin?
What are we, but souls of sin?
What are we, what have we been?
What story is there behind a grin?

The stories of men are what I seek.
Behind each face, the messages speak.
Of people turned depressed and morally weak,
and of experiences which leave men bleak.

I never wanted to be pretty.
But I've wanted to be loved.
I never wanted to be ****.
But I've wanted to be important.
I never wanted to be hot.
But I've wanted to be happy.
I never asked to be beautiful.
But I remember asking to be smart.
I never asked to be a female.
But I remember asking for respect.
I never asked for stranger’s opinions.
But I have asked for equality.
I never asked for ******* pictures.
But I have asked for understanding.
I never knew my gender meant ‘object’.
But I know what it feels like to be objectified.
I never knew that being female made me weak.
But I know I was always told I “hit like a man.”
I never knew ** somehow meant stupid.
But I know that ‘gender role’ for me, means submit.
I never liked not being heard by the guys when debating.
But I know how it feels to rarely be taken seriously.
I never enjoyed getting razor burn when shaving.
But I know what it's like to wear pants during summer.
I never wanted to hear what you'd do to my body.
But I remember my ex ignoring me when I said it hurt.
I never wanted to be sexualized.
But I remember being told I wasn't **** enough to be confident.
I never wanted to be a man’s property.
But I know I never wanted to change my last name.
I never wanted to be treated like I'm not worth basic rights.
Honestly, I only ever wanted to be treated like I'm human.

He had told me that my body was beautiful...
He said that his favorite part about me was my stomach...
As I sat before him, bare skin, one hand covering my midsection.
He then proceeded to joke about the way my lower stomach 'jiggles'...
As if I wasn't already aware.

And I know he was just trying to encourage "body confidence".
But in my mind I heard the words of ex-boyfriends
And concerned family members echoing his comments.
So, even though he never said it, or even came close...
All I heard was the same thing that had been drilled into my esteem for 19 years;
"Well, maybe if she'd lose a little weight..."

At 13, My grandmother smacked my stomach.
While laughing, she said to me,
"You're getting fat."

As a freshman, my grandfather placed a hand on my shoulder,
Looked at my stomach in disapproval, and said,
"Ky, you know, you're getting pretty big."

I could wear my dad's pants by age 12,
And then grew into my mom's by the time I turned 14.

Somewhere around the time I was 15,
My depression swallowed me, and my waistline grew.
I weighed 185lbs by my 17th birthday.

That was the first time a guy I was talking to,
Pulled up to my house, took one look at me,
Called me a "Pig", and left my sight.

Online, A guy commented on my picture,
"Who let the dogs out?"

I gradually sunk even deeper into depression...
In turn - I had slowly gained more weight...
And took fewer body pictures.

Freshly 18, and I thought I had found love.
I thought the size of my waist was finally overlooked...

But then the man I had almost gave my name for,
Began to tell me to put my clothes on after I showered...
Or after we had ***.
I was 5'9", 215lbs, and had just turned 19 years old.
And when that same man broke my heart...
I was devastated, destroyed,
And had been left feeling unattractive.

I went on a search to be wanted...
But it wasn't until I was finally wanted,
that I realized I didn't want it...
I wanted to be hurt.
I wanted someone I wanted to destroy me.
I needed to feel some sort of pain.
It was all I knew.

So I chased after men that i knew would hurt me,
But I always ran away if it didn't hurt just right,
And then blamed them when I ran, for hurting me.

That was when I smoked crystals...
They made me numb to my emotions,
And in turn, made me lax on my ideals.
Still... Those crystals quickly tore away my weight...
I fell from 215lbs to 150lbs in as few as 5 months;
And convinced myself that my thinner waistline
Is ultimately what had defined my happiness.

I told myself, 'I am finally pretty',
And began to take pictures of my body.
I fed off the flattery on social sites to build my ego.
I had expected to finally stay happy...
I was no longer 'fat' and I had thought,
"I'm finally pretty enough to be loved."

All growing up...
Visiting my grandparents had meant:
Being ashamed of the numbers on the scale.
I'd be reminded of my growing waistline...
Or how pretty I would be if it shrunk.

I just wanted them to say I was pretty enough.
I needed them to, so I could justify my new diet...

While blowing smoke and inhaling diamonds;
It was like I had been breathing out the pounds and ounces in each cloud of smoke -
Or putting sharpened rocks into my nostrils...
Until they fell to my waist and shredded away every inch.

When my grandfather lost his memories,
I made the 3 hours drive to care for my grandparents...
I was feeding my Grandfather,
And I was called on by his wife.

You can imagine my surprise,
When my grandmother snapped my attention from her husband -
Despite Alzheimer's always causing her to forget my name -
She looked into my eyes and said to me:

"Kyla, You need to gain some more weight."

You know...
Now I think I understand
What Melanie Martinez meant,
When she asked the question,

"Is it true that pain is beauty?"

A broken thing often is hidden, discarded, replaced.

People, we reset, repair, rebuild seemingly we're refaced.

I see beauty in these broken things, see them repaired.

Because every dent, scratch, or Nick reminds us of our bond and the times we have shared.

I cannot sleep
Or at least I choose not to
Until the sun breaks the horizon
I wake up to a typical ringtone
But sometimes my heart hurts
Like it used to when I smoked
And after 12 hours of rest
I can still barely open my eyes
I cannot convince myself that
There's a real reason to wake up
I am so alone aside from my love
That any social interaction crashes over my body with
guilt and embarrassment that have no purpose
I swallow a few conversations but they hurt
I miss the friends I used to have but I know
We changed so much it could never be the same

And through recent interaction
I realize how much I miss my community
Surrounding myself with those who understand
My fears
My pain
My experiences
Without me having to explain it
Validating my emotions and
Reminding me that I am allowed to feel the way I do
Simply because I do