When I look in the mirror,
I don’t see what they see.
They say I’m cute,
beautiful,
good looking
but none of that ever felt like me.

I wasn’t like this before.
As a kid, I never questioned my reflection,
never measured my worth
by the shape of my face
or the size of my waist.
But somewhere along the way,
the world made me doubt.

The older I get,
the more I shrink into shadows
of what I think I should be.
Pretty, but not enough.
Desired, but only if I fit
some picture perfect fantasy
they scroll past
and save to their dreams.

They say looks don’t matter,
but their eyes speak first
long before their mouths ever do.
And I’m tired.
Tired of pretending I don’t notice.
Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

My brother’s voice still echoes
She’s not worth the wait.
When I look in the mirror,
I don’t see what they see.
They say I’m cute,
beautiful,
good looking
but none of that ever felt like me.

I wasn’t like this before.
As a kid, I never questioned my reflection,
never measured my worth
by the shape of my face
or the size of my waist.
But somewhere along the way,
the world made me doubt.

The older I get,
the more I shrink into shadows
of what I think I should be.
Pretty but not enough.
Desired but only if I fit
some picture perfect fantasy
they scroll past
and save to their dreams.

They say looks don’t matter,
but their eyes speak first
long before their mouths ever do.
And I’m tired.
Tired of pretending I don’t notice.
Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

My brother’s voice still echoes
She’s not worth the wait.
Ugly.
Words not meant for me to hear,
but now I carry them
like a bruise beneath my skin.
Even makeup can’t cover that.

I straighten my hair,
dress like I’m trying to matter,
smile like I’m confident.
But inside I still feel unseen.
Still feel less.

My ex warned me:
If you gain more weight, I’ll leave.
As if love had a number,
as if my worth was on a scale.
He gained weight too,
but I guess his mirror
was more forgiving than mine.

He’s gone.
But the damage stayed.

Now, when old crushes reach out,
I disappear.
I’m busy.
I’m out of town.
But really,
I’m just hiding
waiting for a version of me
that feels lovable enough
to show up.

I tell myself:
One day, when I fix my body,
when I become beautiful,
then maybe
I’ll let someone see me again.
Maybe
I’ll finally see me too.
Ugly.
Words not meant for me to hear,
but now I carry them
like a bruise beneath my skin.
Even makeup can’t cover that.

I straighten my hair,
dress like I’m trying to matter,
smile like I’m confident.
But inside I still feel unseen.
Still feel less.

My ex warned me:
If you gain more weight, I’ll leave.
As if love had a number,
as if my worth was on a scale.
He gained weight too,
but I guess his mirror
was more forgiving than mine.

He’s gone.
But the damage stayed.

Now, when old crushes reach out,
I disappear.
I’m busy.
I’m out of town.
But really,
I’m just hiding
waiting for a version of me
that feels lovable enough
to show up.

I tell myself
One day, when I fix my body,
when I become beautiful,
then maybe
I’ll let someone see me again.
Maybe
I’ll finally see me too.

i love you that much
so when there is
a choice
between you and me
i choose to love

maybe
i love you
because
i don’t know what love is
i’m sure
i do
but for you
i don’t want to follow the rules

you can drink how much you want
but you will never see me in her
you can find another girl
who jokes the same as I did before
who laughs the same, who smiles the same
but it will never be me again

I hate the way you make me feel
Like I am carrying 400lbs of extra weight
On my body
I hate hiw oppressive you turned
I hate the fact that you're birthday
Stole alot from me
And I cannot replace what was stolen
From me
I hate you for what you did
To make me have to lie to others about you
I hate the fact that your old school
I am angry for the simple fact that you are still here
When you shouldn't be even around me
All this aggression
All this hate and anger
Is baggage for me
And you don't know what you have don't yet...
Your lies lead me to lie
And I (f)ucking hate that

She,
voracious reader, nearly a book a day,
she loves Rushdie, Ishiguro, E. Stout,
and so many, many more, a daily add
to an ever growing list of auteurs, all
venerable and venerated, my little bits
pale, don’t even qualify to compare,
so what’s a poet to say, or feel, beside
tears in his eyes, so hereby withdraws his
awarded accolade, HGF,
His Greatest Fan

now that there is a vacancy, looking for
fufillment, now that there is a hollowed
hallow plus a clogged artery, side by side,
both within,

even
an officialized fossilized a
doctor declaration of “chronic heart failure”

who knew docs still diagnosed love sickness?

loss of love could manifest
itself so decisively physically,
and yet I blame her not, and
thank her for the inspiration,
for all the poems birthed in
her presence, and what swill
will /may follow will never be as good,
for memories inevitable yellowing,
discoloration infestation inevitable,
earn my pallor palest poverty
and like a used car, good enough
for daily trips to the office, but not
for cross country trips,

and perhaps
that means,
only smaller,  
somewhat
used up,
and  e v e n
not only,
only love poetry

open to direction
road trip to
Sweet Sorrow Land

My first experience
With clairvoyance
Was nit a good experience
I walked into a house
This house had
Negative energy
As if some wanted to attack me
But it was the energy at the time
Then my sister told
Me this that
Some worm killed his family
And him self in the exact
House I was staying
Oh the terror I felt