i've always been the girl who was sneaking out late from home
i've always been the girl smoking cigarettes behind dumpsters to not be caught
i've always been the girl who felt all too lonely and went off with strange men
i've always been the girl who enjoyed meaningless *** for the night yet hurt herself in the morning for it
i've always been the girl seeking some sort of concrete love
i've always been the girl that was told, "love yourself, or no one else will"
i've always been the girl attracted to danger because life was too draining and boring
i've always been the girl seeking approval from others who don't matter
i've always been the girl beating herself up for these things, because she knows they are true
i've always been the girl looking into the mirror and seeing a monster staring right back at her
i'm the girl standing on the railroad tracks wishing for it to end
i'm the girl that is starting to see, she no longer has to be these things

I like to wear tiny shorts
On my big fat ****.
And little tiny tops to make
My ***** look big.
But if I catch you staring at me
And ogling my *******
I’ll suddenly get all proper on you
And call you a pig.

Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.

I love my hair bleached orange
With lots of dark roots.
I keep it long, and badly cut
Then wear a pony tail.
I walk like a linebacker
On the scrimmage line.
I think I look extremely cool
Like I just got out of jail.

Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.

If I wear a hat it is a stocking cap
And some boots I stole from a boy.
It all goes well with raccoon eyes;
The makeup makes it work.
I am so **** hot that I am sizzling.
If you object you are jealous.
So, I ignore your comments and sneers.
You must be a bunch of jerks.

Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.

That was the summer our electric bill went up
because as soon as the sun went down
I would light up mirrors
that I stared down for hours
in hopes that I would lose

My self esteem
with every inch I lost
from my arms, legs, fingers, chest,
but if I could just take a few more
from my waist then I would be

Mentally unstable and out of control
as I stay in line with 1,200 calorie days
and sit-ups before bed
because a coworker offered me a cookie
and I couldn't say

No one should have to feel like they're dying
in order to feel beautiful
but how can you fly
when your wings are too heavy
to get off the

Ground level is where I am right now
but at this point I'm used
to taking the stairs
so the top doesn't look
too far away anymore

I lumber sluggishly,
dragging the weight of my body.
Every pound is tethered to me,
I can’t escape the heaviness.

I am stuffed into clothes,
encased in figure-hugging fabric
that looks better on the hanger
than my rounded, fleshy torso.

The scale is an unlucky lottery ticket
displaying a number
that I will carry around
shamefully like a scarlet letter.

I count calories like beads on a rosary,
making sure I shrink to conformity
critical of every extra curve
because to love my size is a societal sin.

Airbrushed beauty queens
and slender starlets
wear their size 0 like a badge of honor
in the battlefront of glossy magazine covers.

I’m crushed with the weight of the world I inhabit
a place that teaches girls to be self-conscious
of each pound that sticks to their body
instead of teaching them to be confident in their own skin.

I’m tired of micromanaging each nutrient that touches my lips,
to achieve a slender frame that resists my big-***** body
self love is not a one-size-fits-all
and I will radically adore every ounce that is tethered to me.

I always spell wierd wrong.
It takes me 1.35 minutes to cook minute rice.
And it takes me more than an instant to cook instant noodles.
I pull doors that says push.
I once tried to give a blind man a high five.
And I killed my own cactus because I gave it too much water.

But I am really good at making grilled cheese sandwhich. So I might survive.

Why can't you see
The beauty that I do
I swear you're so amazing
In all that you do

But you focus on your flaws
Scratching yourself with your own claws
But I see someone special
But you let insecurities boil like a hot kettle

Where you see weakness I see strength
Where I reach out you pull away with a feint
Where you see ugliness I see beauty
Even though you don't believe me when I say so, that you think it's my duty

It's so frustrating when someone is so special
But they can't see it?
Can you see what I see?  I hope you will, you won't regret it

Does it really matter
What color you are;
Where you're born,
That you've come far,
What belief you hold on the afterlife.
Did you live in luxury,
Where you steeled in strife.
Our babies grasp onto our backs,
Stroke their cheeks,
See them react.
Tap my knee,
My leg will kick;
Show your teeth,
I'll snarl back.
That's how I survive.
I like to stay alive.
I have many tribes.
I plan tomorrow,
Should it not arrive,
I'll leave life knowing,
I stayed alive.

Will we be truly happy?
Will we be truly free?
I ask myself this **** on a daily.
Who the **** is going to save me?
I answer
Only yourself man, only yourself.

Is it vanity? Is it money?
Is it love that keeps
you happy?
Will you give your all
to hold onto your sanity?
All because you feel
that you are happy?
Will you never sleep
to chase a dream?
Even when you lack self-esteem?
Even when those around you
don't believe in your dream?
Will you be happy?

Will you be happy
when you lose all of your friends?
Because perfecting your craft
means more to you than
what you all did in the past?
Will they follow you
on your self-paved path
or will they wonder off
and let life become wasted trash?
You know life is precious.
You know life is meaningful.
That is why you protect yourself
and perfect yourself.
So that you can
make life more beautiful
in your eyes, in your mind.
Will you be happy?
Will you be free?

Will you be happy?
Will you be free?
When you are where
you need to be.
Will you still be true to yourself?
Or would you follow the crowd
and follow the money
and become a **** sell out?
To sell your soul
completely out for
someone else gold paved route?
Will you still love
the way you use
to love?
Or would heartache and pain
distort your heart's vibrations
and cause you to love no longer?
Free of attachments.
Will you be happy?
Will you be free?

There's something surely burning
When I get the yearning
To be better than I am.

There's a flicker of contrition
That spreads from my ambition
To be better than I am.

My temperature increases,
My spirit gets heat blisters;
I will concoct a balm.

I'll fan the flames with sorrow,
Add the worries of tomorrow,
To burn away the waste.

When purged
I'll have the embers,
To ensure that I remember
What first ignited me
To be better than I am.