Mommy must have thought Dad would love her less if she got fat
(I laugh at such an obvious lie)
She was sad her daughters were chubby
(One got anorexia, but I didn't change)
She told me my knees were ugly
I shouldn't wear such short skirts
fat legs weren't pretty
What?! 17 mag didn't say that!
But the lie hurt and tore my confidence
A crop top with a round belly isn't ugly either,
Ok?
No, I'm not OK
What do clothes have to do with freedom?
I dress for attention sometimes
But it's not ******
Is it alright to dress for attention?
We all want to look nice and get a complement
This Is My Freedom
It's Worth The Fight

It hit me like a 220 pound wave, that swept over and engulfed me. It consumed me but, comforted me. I was unaware of what I felt, what I was supposed to feel and what I was made to feel. The wave I could not face, the wave that made my tongue and bones freeze, the wave that stiffened my muscles, the wave that stocked my lungs with thick healthy mud, there was no room to inhale my happiness and exhale my dejection.
My bones cracked like a startled iceberg, as I was struck and brought back to reality by a ship- another soul brought me back, back to reality, back to the world of changing faces. I froze in the same ocean I was born in. In the shifting realities of the world I felt like a deserted infant sitting still on the shore of a fierce and vicious ocean, commanding it's waves to attack. So it hit me again, again and again like a 220 pound wave, that swept over and engulfed me. Then again, It consumed me but, comforted me. I can always say, that the sea is at war, and we are the waves that sway, that give movement, and give life to the still world.  

- Kaya

You say I am strong
as if that will make my sadness melt away but
No amount of strength or grace
could make me forget the pain
I may come out stronger in the end
Or maybe, injured, damaged
Right now, I'm still struggling to lift this weight above my head
I'm just trying to stay upright

You might think that it's easier to bear an empty heart.

To have no care for anything,

But truth is the more you let something consume your heart,

The lighter it would be for you.


-HIY

When did it become instinct to **** in my stomach when I speak
As if my words were something that needed to be contained
And my body ashamed
When did I start believing that being curvaceous
Meant I couldn't be vivacious
That I needed to hide
And lose my pride
As if my weight defined
Who I could be
And my tummy would remind
That that everyone could see
My imperfections
These are my confessions
I am self aware
I care
About others judgements
And the way that I am perceived
So I try to make adjustments
Yet I never succeed

The weight of the wait is a wear that I hate to wear.

Gives great alliteration, though.

I'm so ready for all the things only a tiptoe away, but I can't have them. Nine days, I repeat religiously in my head, like a prayer from my own personal bipolar bible to keep my head on straight.

I can have everything in nine days.

Its a madness and a sort of vibration of my slumbering monster, old and weak but still ever-present, to be so close but yet so far. All my dreams are literally at my fingertips yet I cannot touch them. Not my friends, not my family, not my love, not my blue. All the things that are things of greatness are stuck at the end of this pole dangling far away and I am no good at balancing. All I get to do is stare and wait.

He's less than that ever-looming 2,000 miles away.

The blue is 30 edits and a read-through away from being possibly a completed manuscript.

The loves of my life are so close and ******* Christ I want them so bad but...

The work needs to be done. The class needs to be done. The appointments need to be done. The dishes need to be done. The unpacking needs to be done.

Their is a sense of comfort in the whole thing, that everything is so **** close, that the longest weight of my life is almost over.

I need this. I need my fingers banging against a keyboard, and I need the man I love most banging against me. Yes, I said it. Banging. So what if its gratuitous, its been over four months. I deserve the things that make me happiest. I have learned how to be alone,  I have proven my ability to be a strong individual able to take care of her ******* self.

Now, stubborn world, give me back what is mine.

The blue can come back into focus next week, and he will come not long after. Their will be a quelling of the weary weight that I have been waiting to shed.

The summer has been hard. Good on me, I toughened up quite a bit, but hard nonetheless. I know its been a little ******* everyone. But the two things I love are adamant and strong, as am I, and we'll find each other again. Just was an annoying but necessary hiatus.

My mind can breathe in its home again, on the page and keyboard, and my body can be held in the arms of the most fantastic man I've ever met. The weight of my impatience and excitably and anxiousness is heavy, but it made my body and mind so strong my adamant nature is ready to take on the world, with partner in crime and writing in hand.

I got this, no matter the weight.