We've all imagined
Wedding dresses and vails
growing up
losing our pig-tails and overalls
trading them in for
beach waves and crop tops
only for the person in our
Reflection
to turn into a complete
s t r a n g e r

staring blank faced at a girl you can't recognize anymore
drawing imaginary lines on our bodies with our eyes
cutting away the imperfections with
our hands shaped as
scissors,

wishing
we could look like
the models in the magazines
or
the actresses on the tv screens
But, society tells us
we can Never be
Skinny
enough
Never be
Pretty
enough
That our features will
NEVER
be
Good
e n o u g h

Because the girl in the mirror who has lost all hope
can Never amount to
what we have been taught from the time we could
walk and talk
what beautiful is;

We went from carefree children
to teens who are
depressed and anxious
all the time
most of us addicted to Nicotine and Alcohol
our parents tell us to smile and quit with the attitudes
but behind closed doors we criticize ourselves
enough

The little girl in her pigtails
playing with everyone on the playground
so innocent
so pure
get labeled as a racist
in the 6th grade because her skin is white

By the time she enters high school
she knows better than to state an opinion,
the teachers know Best,
never stand up to a man,
he's superior to you,
even when behind the closed doors
he touches you when you say STOP
but you know better than to say something
cause you had to have wanted it,
take it as a compliment,
it just means you're pretty

if you say anything you'll be labeled as a
W h o r e
if you keep quiet it's an invitation for
M o r e

people asking
"why do you flinch at a simple touch?"
how do you explain years of torment to a complete
s t r a n g e r,
you don't, you smile and act dumb

pretty is a vocabulary word to describe anyone
but the girl that is seen in the mirror
because she is
Not
Good
e n o u g h
and she knows that

she has lost friends cause she can't trust them

she changes her style monthly

trying sooo hard just to be
accepted
she doesn't remember
the little girl in pigtails,
she doesn't remember
what a real smile looks like,
the pain behind her eyes
c l o u d s
her reality
the voice in her head telling her
"you're eating too much"
"you're an idiot"
"you'll never amount to anything"
and she
s     l     o     w     l    y
fades away
til there is nothing left
to put back together
cause her mind and heart are
s c   a   t t e  r e     d
aimlessly
shes numb and she
thinks, this is what happiness feels like
no more pain
no more criticizing
No, more
pretending to be okay

Imagine, I am sitting
at the piano.
Imagine, you come to sit
beside me-to join me.
And while I am playing,  out of the corner
of my eye, I see the twinkle
in yours. The longing in your eyes,
because I caress the keys of the piano
so softly, and you hope, that
I might, one day, do the same
to
you.
But I am no more than a simple musician.
So imagine this, I can play the piano,
but    I could
          make you
                    sing.

Imagine, I'm laying in your bed. Beneath your covers.
On your pillow.
In your arms.
Imagine, you press your thumb to
my lower lip, and you can hear my heart
beating like a hammer.
You remake my ribcage with your fingertips, and
you teach me a new language with your mouth.
You touch me with intention.
Imagine, I let you. I uncurl.
Moonlight filters in through the window and pours over us. That silky-white illumination is reflected in your eyes and it touches
you so softly, I could scream.
And the exquisite truth of it all is,
that if you ever did get to touch me,
I think I would die.

I imagine that the wind flowing through my hair
is your hand weaving through the strands,
as I stand
in the midnight air...

I imagine that,
alone in the place where I used to hold you close
as my tears begin to enclose me
in the midnight air...

I could write erotica
Words flushed with heat
And lust
A bare trace of plot
Sliding through the lines
like soft skin on silk sheets.

I could paint pictures
with sultry poses,
long limbs entwined in a battle of flesh,
pictures to bring a tingle,
a shiver dancing across your skin.

I could whisper salacious stories
with my lips just above your ear,
hot breath and a teasing lilt,
testing the boundaries of self-control.

I could pass along this poem,
lay forth my cards,
exposed provocatively on the table,
making my intentions known.