He asked me:
"You're one of the chubby ones, aren't you?"
I didn't know how to respond.
Maybe I thought if I stayed silent,
the question would go away.

I had been feeling so good,
as if I’d finally escaped my insecurities.
I didn’t think a couple of words
could do so much damage.
But why didn’t I see it coming?

I curled my hair to distract from my round face.
I wore chunky necklaces
to hide the folds on my neck.
Big rings on my fingers,
so no one would notice their size.
Tight clothes cinched at my waist,
and every chance I got,
I’d **** in my stomach,
hoping they wouldn’t see my belly.

When I looked like a whale,
I hid beneath oversized black jackets,
draping my arms in the shadows.
I painted my face with makeup,
layer after layer,
as if it could camouflage the body underneath.

I live in a world where they say:
“Femininity is beautiful, embrace it.”
Another screams:
“Be strong, be invincible.”
Yet in the arms of a man,
the script flips completely.
“Let him lead. Let him control you.
Submit.”

“Don’t say no;
it will turn him off.”
And now, apparently,
they prefer when we beg them to stop.

Every compliment always felt like a cruel joke,
Every compliment had its own flaw.
But Finally, I looked at him and said,
"Why does it matter?

At sixteen,
I’m wild—
young, untamed,
running through life
with a heart
full of dreams
with mi príncipe
and no fear
of what comes next.

I see them in reflections - the orange juice glass at breakfast or my iPhone where they can pop-up, like notifications - I keep my phone face down.

They usually want to tell you something - how it was for them - their history. I discount these emotional messages - they come with the jester's assumption that I care - that I need the performance and will get involved.

“What are you doing?” My mom asks, as I’m taking all the shiny, mirror-like ornaments off the Christmas tree.
“The glare gives me a headache” I say, without stopping.
“Your Grandma does that too”, she says, wiping her hands on a Santa-themed dishtowel.
“Really?” I say, but I know that, and I know why.

I started having nightmares, when I was in first grade. My mom thought I had an overactive imagination but when she described it to my grandma, she soon showed up for a visit.

Over the next few weeks my Grandma told me about our “gift”. About how we were both born on the same day, under a waning third moon, in Autumn. That we're both “Yins,” doxies (sweethearts) of the dead and that we could, at times, see and hear people who were between stops on their way to their afterlives.

That’s why the dead parachute into my unused moments from reflective surfaces. They can be anxious or in despair - when their deaths were cruel or sudden - but I'm barely an adult - I'm in school - what can I do??

The presence of water discourages them - which is perfect - can you imagine seeing spirits in the reflections of your bath? EEUUUWWW!  
You’ll hardly ever see me without a water bottle or polarized sunglasses - which seem to break up the images. I'll not be smothered in other people's afterlives.

My Life is seen as a mess
In reality, it is as organized as can be
People always use their minds
To double-check what they see
I have never tried to hurt anyone
But when they think about myself, they ruin me

My Life is like trash, some say
To me, it's a beautiful display

People cut me down all the time
But my eyes tell me what always rhymes

It looks like my mental state made a disappearance
To me, My Life had never been an interference

I always felt the need to please others, it lifts you in the air
But for someone like me, you feel self-aware

Now, I'm stuck here, breaking the fourth wall
As I type this out, and speak to you all

No matter what the time, day, and place
The world feels like a runner in a race

People will pass you, for a short, little while
But don't let that get to you, just think, compile

Once you learn to accept that, all becomes clear
That it wasn't your mental state that began to disappear

So let people pass you, let them reach the finish first
But don't let your knowledge in that race disperse

You can speak in riddles or speak in rhymes
but just remember, its a matter of time

Please think about this, as I get to your head
Let this poem help you, and let you rest in your bed

For that is what matters now, don't forget it
Once this skill is learned, you can be omnipresent

I love the way you’re a people pleaser,
The way your smile makes life feel easier.
I love how your siblings tease with care,
A bond so strong, beyond compare.

I love the way you hate the quiet,
Your voice the song that breaks the riot.
I love how you yell at the TV screen,
Each loss dramatic, raw, and keen.

I love your eyes, blue mixed with green,
The brightest hue I’ve ever seen.
I love your chinchilla smile so wide,
A joyful glow you never hide.

I love the secrets you keep inside,
The weight you carry, how hard you’ve tried.
I love the words your poems weave,
The thoughts that others can't conceive.

I love the way you talk with ease,
How you charm the world, how you appease.
I love the way you fill the air,
With warmth and laughter everywhere.

Am I physically unable to succeed, like, ever?

I mean, come on world, cut me some slack!
I'll try as hard as I want,
give you whatever you want,
Just let me have this,
please.

I say this, and I mean it.
I give up every part, piece, fragment of myself  
Just to keep failing over and over and over again.

I'm telling you guys, its seriously not fair.
But fine...

I'll just slowly disintegrate into the Earth
Like all dead things do.
Maybe, then I'll grow into something thats actually good
and beautiful
and worthwhile,

Like - like a flower growing from *******!
And not like a total failure and complete waste of space.

Am I just a vessel? Or a shell?
A place for his hands to dwell
Even if I told him to stop
No one would believe me if I tell

My Mother, she trusts him
To watch me while she’s out
Would she hear my cries
My find fills up with doubt

Am I just an object? Or a shell?
To be taken by force
By a man who never asked
As he pinned me with no remorse

His hands were very forceful
I bet I was easy to impel
The dampness in my basement
Was all I could smell

Tired of sick feelings in my stomach
Welled up inside
I made a choice quite impulsive
I would not abide

I’m not his object, not his toy
So the next time he tried
I backed away told him no
And pushed him aside

Can you meet me after midnight?
And just hold me close
I’ll show you a good time
And no one has to know

Don’t know if its love
Or more of a feeling
But if you show up
Wear something revealing

I’ll be your women
But just for the night
This doesn’t have to end up
With me in all white

But what if I want that?
Would it be wrong to want more?
We could share a love
That’s worth fighting for

I’ll meet you after midnight
And just hold you close
But what if I’m tired?
Of ending nights with no clothes

Would you be upset or angry?
If I spoke my mind
If I did would you still choose me?
If you could rewind?

So what if I want?
To be a wife that you flaunt
And not your lady after midnight
Sorry if I’m blunt

today I saw her
beautiful as ever
my eyes followed her every move , every turn , every lump
how beautiful she looks with huge glasses
and an even bigger smile
she wore a pink bow on her hair today

She didn't even look at me,
I don't want us to be lovers
but a simple hi or hello
would make my day
but there she goes
as far away from me as possible

oh how i love you
the way you would never love me back
so beautiful yet so empty .