I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
Wear dresses from the clearance rack
That show the red bumps after shaving my legs

I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
A recipe for nothing special at all
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her **** brown eyes
And curvy hips
That sway in the sun

You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous way
And you see
Just how perfect I am

I despise social media.
It's ugly, to state the obvious
Our lives are posted, re-tweeted, altered, re-blogged, perfected, and photo shopped to exactly how we want to be perceived
We have the freedom to be exactly what they want us to be.

It starts with a few edits doesn't it,
pigmented our skin to seem smooth and sun kissed,
that would seem most acceptable right?
Maybe an extra like for the skinnier waist.
More reassurance for brighter colors.
Some more filters will hid the emptiness you feel with your friends
   Another like
Flashier clothing, phones, shoes, cars, other simple words our eyes have latched on to
     Another like
We urge ourselves to portray the life of leisure and effortless beauty, happiness, success,
       Another like
But what are we enjoying?
         Another like
Views of our changing world through a 3 by 8 view.
           Another like
Events pass by swipe
             Another like
and swipe
               Another like

And when we managed to unlock ourselves from this grasp
We always come back
Like flies to light, more like scratches to a scab
Festering we find ourselves getting ****** back in
To an imaginary world, that if destroyed, would have no physical effects on their fictional beings
For without this world, maybe eyes will open
We will step past the boundaries,
and start to love our beings
unfiltered

I despise social media.
It's ugly, to state the obvious
Our lives are posted, retweeted, altered, reblogged, perfected, and photoshopped to exactly how we want to be perceived
We have the freedom to be exactly what they want us to be.

It starts with a few edits doesn't it,
pigmented our skin to seem smooth and sun kissed,
that would seem most acceptable right?
Maybe an extra like for the skinnier waist.
More reassurance for brighter colors.
Some more filters will hid the emptiness you feel with your friends
   Another like
Flashier clothing, phones, shoes, cars, other simple words our eyes have latched on to
     Another like
We urge ourselves to portray the life of leisure and effortless beauty, happiness, success,
       Another like
But what are we enjoying?
         Another like
Views of our changing world through a 3 by 8 view.
           Another like
Events pass by swipe
             Another like
and swipe
               Another like

And when we managed to unlock ourselves from this grasp
We always come back
Like flies to light, more like scratches to a scab
Festering we find ourselves getting ****** back in
To an imaginary world, that if destroyed, would have no physical effects on their fictional beings
For without this world, maybe eyes will open
We will step past the boundaries,
and start to love our beings
unfiltered

I wish I could be a rainbow
for everyone to see
Painted in the sky with
all the colours brilliantly

I wish I could go swinging
Swinging from a tree
All my friends and I
having fun, just to be

One colour, two colour, three
Oh so many things that I wish to be

There's flowers in the meadow
Smiling up at me
I still can't be a flower
Just being myself.

I can't be in the meadow.
I can't see the trees.
I can't see myself
Being what I want to be.

it all started at one dinner

"all of that is for you?"
"how can you eat so much?"
"are you sure you want all of that?"

was it wrong for me to eat what i wanted to?
i remember looking at my plate
i left it untouched the rest of the dinner
i thought it would never happen again
but again i was attacked with words

"girls dont stay skinny forever you know"
"you are going to get fat, stop eating"
"do you want to be fat?"

i was confused
had i done something wrong?
where was all this coming from?
what do you want me to do?

the tv made it worse

"look at how skinny she is"
"no wonder she has a husband"
"her child will be just as beautiful as her"

i curled into a ball ashamed of myself
why were you telling me this?
why were you being so mean?
how do i fix things between us?

i had stopped eating
the emptiness in my stomach no longer hurt
water was my only meal each day
my sleepless nights were filled with crying

"dont eat that"
"not that either, you have to stay skinny"
"you can go with one less meal"

my friends didnt know
they knew i didnt eat alot
but he knew right away
he knew something was wrong

"hey do you want this slice?" the pizza was put in front of me
one look at it and i was crying
"are you okay? whats wrong?"
i pushed the slice away and left

he was silent at first
he knew to give me my space
but you didnt
no you were still there beside me

"look what you did fat girl"
"you know skinny girls dont act stupid"
"what a fat freak"

when i finally told him what was wrong he smiled

"those are lies and you know it"
"you are so beautiful"
"you are stronger than those words"

and since then the words didnt hurt as much when you said them
sure you kept saying it
and you still do today
but i know that i am beautiful
my best friend had said so and he never lies

you cant hurt me anymore

Why is he sad?
Why is he blue?
Does life mean anything to you?
He can be wild
He can be free
Yet he acts like he’s in captivity

He goes to check on himself
To make sure he’s still worthless
Tell me boy do you feel useless ?

This sad boy’s truth is truer than true
His pain is real like me and you
But this sad boy isn’t real anymore
He’s a sad man now, kicking down your door,  maybe one day he’ll find some peace or make his life a living art piece

I was bare;
Showing you the battlefields left
Of wars fought on my skin.
A scared innocent body,
Riddled with sacrilege.
I revealed to you my scars both visible and invisible
And you mapped each of them with your fingertips.

Your eyes locked with mine.
Inside the beautiful windows to your mind,
I saw you
Churning
With curiosity;
With wonder;
And your gentle gaze held me steadily
With the absence of lust.
And I knew I made the right choice.

How do you tell someone
That you've got your own blood on your hands?
That you still haven't cleaned the knife that ran across your thighs?
That you can't even cry because you're ******* cried out?
That your legs are bright red
And each cut is still clearly identifiable?
That you want a ******* hug but the blade is the only thing offering comfort?
That you know it's wrong but you still did it?
That your blood is still there
Four hours later,
Because if you move you'll just cut again?
How do you tell someone all of that?
How do you tell someone that,
Without scaring them away?
How do you tell someone that,
And still have them love you?

I wish, I wish, I wish,
That I could love the skin that I’m in,
And I wish, I wish, I wish,
That I didn’t have to plaster on my grin.

I dream, I dream, I dream,
Of another life, or another time,
And I dream, I dream, I dream,
Of a world where you are mine.

I hope, I hope, I hope,
That I’m not to broken to try,
And I hope, I hope, I hope,
That I’ll live before I die.

n.b.