I know I'm in love because I'm filled with pain
And my mind is telling me to play twisted games
Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3,
When I am away, do you miss me?
Or do you wish you were free?
Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3,
When I leave, are you filled with relief?
Or are we on the same page?
Torn by insecurities
You told me I deserve to be loved
But this doubt will only die with me
So, maybe the best option is to set you free
Even if I'm wrong

Slick with self preservation,
I moisturize away the blemishes.
Night masks alone in the apartment.
Mane too long they dampen
Dark lines on dark skin, strands
stick to me blacker than kajal.
I’ll shower in the morning.
Grabbing at the extra, cupping
Slapping and ******* it in.
I’m so much when i think
I’m not enough.
Wrapping it in lace,
hug where it goes in
Abnormal hourglass,
I turn around to examine
The lightning storm around my
thunder thighs too thick to gap,
Just a small wineglass
Under a coarse tangle.
“Need to workout again.”
Dimples press and flatten,
Tattoos jiggle and beckon.
The hairs on my legs are fine
stand straight in the cold
My feet are sort of dry,
I dip them in cream
And slip on soft socks I could
Never wear in sleep,
I think of a silly dream
where I’m blonde and very thin
Like the best friend
Of every man I’ve ever been with
The one they crush(ed)
on only just a little-
but that was a long time ago.
Such a funny pattern,
Such a common trend.
I wonder if I’m meant to
bring myself to that.
But to change so quickly-
I’d rather be fat,
dark and dead.

“You’re beautiful” I say
For lack of a better word
Because how can I only describe her as so?
She’s what it feels like to feel the sun dance upon your face
The wind gently rustling your hair
The glowing of wood lit aflame
Candles flickering while the windows rattle from wind

She’s the beginning of the Star Wars theme at full blast
Hearing the sound of the TARDIS for the first time in so long
The opening credits of each long-awaited marvel movie
Feeling the magic of reading the first Harry Potter book again
The closing of a finished book, knowing there’s more to come
Rapping every line of Hamilton perfectly

She’s everything pure in the world that brings unbridled joy
And there’s no way that “beautiful” could
EVER
Measure up to that

often more times than not, i question if i have a knack for writing poems.
truth be told, i cannot discern the answer.
i attempt to make something roll off the tongue.
but, it's hard to do so when you don't know how to start.
so, a poet like me will have trials and tribulations that weigh heaviness on themselves.
it's the soul-crushing kind that feels similar to a heart aching.
because you want to be one of the best, but the reality is that you don't have the means to become better.

insecurity gets the best of me.
even when I don’t mean for it to.
a fear of becoming bothersome
with these afflictions I try to suppress.
I suffer restlessly with these sentiments,
earnestly craving a silence from the voices
that resound persistently in my head.
I struggle with the irons wrapped around me,
screaming routinely that it’s all a facade.
no matter how hard I try, how far I run,
the thoughts are always ahead of me.
always one step in front, beckoning me.
enticing me to welcome their embrace.
an embrace of sorrow, of lies and of pain.
a place of immeasurable uncertainty.
blanketed by a face of calm.

No matter how
you sugarcoat it,
there is never
a nice way
of calling someone
fat.

I.E.

“You would have been beautiful
in the Renaissance era
[because in the Renaissance era
they painted portraits
of chubby girls like you—
back then,
fat was artistry.]


I still don’t know what
I was more upset about:
The backhanded compliment--
"would have"
being synonymous for
"no longer"--
or the fact that
I was conditioned
to believe the
Mona Lisa
was anything short of  
sublime.

just tell me that you think I look pretty tonight
and that my eyes look dazzling under lights
please don’t hesitate on all that you’re thinking
because now all the thoughts in my head are spinning