I am not my body

I am not the freckles scattered across my face like mismatched constellations
I am not the extra cupcakes that find their way to my thighs
I am not the shade of my eyes nor the hue of my skin
I am not the dark circles that come from lack of sleep
I am not the imperfections that appear on my forehead

I am my soul

I am a sad song on a lonely Saturday night
I am cute movies at midday and romantic comedies at midnight
I am the moon and the sun and the stars and the trees dancing in the wind
I am love and heartbreak, art and music
I am the clothes I wear and the people I associate with
I am the eye of a hurricane

My body is just a fragile house for the memories and dreams that live inside me.
And I refuse to be defined by that in which I reside.

be conceited

love yourself
love every single aspect of yourself
your thunder thighs, your braces
your back fat, the way your jaw clicks whenever you eat
something crunchy
your allergies, your stumpy fingers
the hair on your arms, and the way that you always click your
pen even when people ask you to stop
love yourself
love yourself until the day you die
and if anyone ever calls you conceited
you tell them

                                                    **** yes i am
                                                             why arent you?

sure*, i wanted to be yours,
but, really, more than anything,
i wanted to be mine.

I was inspired by the many cynical minds
from yesterday and behind,
by countless events of outrage
that poisoned and amazed
the universe that once censured my kind.
But I am not backing down
for in the years to come, you'll see me rise
not away from everyone's judgmental eyes
but with fiery flash, I'll have to burn your pride
and jest the world with my old despicable style.