It’s me, the one nerd
Yes, who you used to throw your
hand made paper planes when I was concentrated in the books,
then pass your homework like I was your personal tutor
And made me cry on my way
back to home

It’s me, the fat
Yes, who you did not consider for cheerleading team just
because I was out of shape
And made me cry on my way
back to home

It’s me, the gay
Yes, who you used to beat up in the locker room for being
attracted to the same gender.
And made me cry on my way
back to home.

It’s me, the differently abled
Yes, who you used to punch,
slap, toss
anytime you wanted to do so.
And made me cry on my way
back to home


Listen to this, bully
It came to our mind, many times
to **** ourselves
because of the humiliation and the pain. but at our home door, we stood,
wiped the tears
because can’t show mama
that we were weak
and dad that we couldn’t stand for ourselves.

we did survive through, alive
but with remarks and scars
and with a shattered heart
-ache

It's okay really it is,
Or maybe it isn't.
As you point out all my flaws especially in my **** face.
You pull at my cheeks and my chubby chin,
I really just hate it.
I don't care if you say that my chubby cheeks are cute,
Because it's not,
They're ugly.
And what gives you the right to point out my **** acne to me every single day.
Should I point out your bad skin?
And how it looks freakish in certain areas.
Don't even think about judging me on the way I eat.
Take a good look at your own self,
Cause I sure as hell know all my insecurities.
Do you even know yours?
Or do you want me to point them out for you every single day like you do mines?
Be careful about what you say on regards to my own body,
Because remember I've seen yours too.

jeans that are a little bit too tight
numbers on the scale that you have to fight
she wanted it badly, she stayed up all night
to her, the future seemed bright

online articles about low-calorie diets
no-carb, low-carb, high-protein try-its
she thought it was the perfect way
to lose that extra layer, so they say

she noticed it working on tuesday at noon
it was working, working so soon
she was pleased with the results it gave
soon it became less to eat and more to crave

she thought she had it all under control
who cares if she ate less than one bowl?
she never ate until she was full
soon she faded away and her eyes became dull

Are you're doing it in a healthy way?
Are you watching what you eat?

Yeah.. That's why I didn't have a bun with dinner.

What I didn't tell her is that watching what I eat means
watching what i would normally eat sit on the shelf
watching what i would normally eat go to others
watching what i would normally eat shrink off my body

She says I've gotten smaller
My coworkers say I've gotten smaller

I don't see it

When someone asks if I've eaten I just avoid the topic or say I've had enough

If someone is concerned I laugh and say "I'm back on my anorexic *******"

I used to love my curves.
My plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest,
My chubby cheeks.
All the curves, stretch marks, and the lumps,
Especially my lumps,
Made me.
And I loved me.

Until I met you.
When we first met, you worshiped my curves.
Kissed on my chest,
Gripped my thighs.
You used to say,
“I love my baby’s fat ***,”
As you would squeeze my thighs
and I would laugh.

But then reality decided;
“Babe you should really workout some”
“*** I really think you should lose some weight”
Or you would talk of other girls,
Thinner girls.
“Country girls are so hot”
“I saw this girl today at work and she was ****.”

So now I’m looking in a mirror.
In my black sports bra
And my mixed match pink underwear.
All I see looking back,
is not
my plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest
Or my chubby cheeks,
Not even my lumps,
Hell, especially my lumps.

I see my belly overflow the hem of my underwear,
I see my ******* resting on my stomach,
I see the extra skin around my neck,
And I notice the way my stomach jiggles when I walk.

The sound of my feet hitting the ground,
The way things vibrate around me when I walk,
My shortness of breath uphill,
And the way my thighs touch each other instead of having that gap.
That cute gap.
That gap that skinny girls have.

But now,
I cover myself more.
The curvy girl who used to wear crop tops confidently,
Now wears a hoodie to hide.
Secretly apologizing to everyone who ever saw her curves.
Her plump hips.
Her thick thighs.
Her ***** chest.
Apologizing to everyone whoever saw,
Her.

And I compare myself to every girl around me.
‘If I had her legs’
‘Her stomach’
‘Her face’
Maybe,
Just maybe,
You would be saying,
“Nerdy girls are hot”
Or bragging to your friends
“I have this girl and she’s so ****”
And maybe,
Just maybe,
You would still be here.

And I would laugh,
Smile,
And blush
And we would be happy.
Together.

But instead,
I’m looking at this mirror,
And all I see
Is a fat girl
Looking back at me.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that is 100 pounds overweight.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has 15 different skin tones.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has faint eyes coloured dark with insomnia.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has thin lips barely matching the size of the doubled chins.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has fat cheeks hiding her faint eyes from the world.

There's nothing pretty about girl that has a  neck covered in fat and hidden by the weight of the chins.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has ******* smaller than the belly it resides above.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has belly enough to cover the scope of her womanhood.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has thighs that rubs together hiding scopes of her womanhood.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has a camera that dulls and fades the blemishes and extra chins away.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has pictures of herself resonating on her social medias but not looking like herself.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that hasn't accepted that there's nothing pretty about her.

There's nothing pretty about a girl that has.................

There's nothing pretty about me.

-fir.m

‪People won’t love me unless I’m thin. ‬
‪They say “be happy in your own skin.” ‬
‪But how can I be happy when I’m so fat it’s a crime. ‬
‪I want to be less then a hundred pounds but I know that will take time. ‬
‪It will take time to be beautiful and thin. Then finally I’ll be comfortable in my own skin. ‬

I slurp down
a salty golden liquid
full of lacerated noodles and flakes
which glisten in their own yellowed oil spill.

I tip the bowl to my mouth
and it fills my stomach from the bottom.

She's made it just for me,
just in time for my despair
although she didn't know that
when she made it.

I'm sick!
I tell her.
I was.

Fever, achy joints,
pits of nausea, and silicone pain,
the works.

I'm getting better.
there is just a dull ache left
but I am still sick
in the head.

A head where plays
a tug of war between
anguish with a goofy hat
and comedy with a noose.

My body gets dragged along with
my chemical eruptions
both biological
and habit-forming,
and my body grows tired.

The soup goes down quick;
the main course after leftovers from lunch.
And all of it fizzles in my belly.

A cigarette might help all of it a little.
Except for the despair.
The soup is for my despair.