stop telling me my hair looks bad
I already hate it enough
Stop commenting on my clothes
I'm only dressed and put together for you
Stop commenting on my body
I stare in the mirror hating myself every day
Stop commenting on my skin
I've tried every remedy in the book to clear it
Stop putting up standards for me to meet*
Im doing the best I can

When I was 13,
I went up to my mother and told her that I wasn't beautiful because
my eyes were too close together
and that my gut hung lower
and my teeth went out farther.
my hair was too coarse
and my appetite was too large,
my skin was too dark
and my nose was too wide.

When I was 13,
I told my mother that beautiful came in only one size
and one size only
and I happened to be 3 sizes too large.
See I thought that all because I saw it to be true.
Oh how I wished to be that girl in the magazines because even the girl in the magazine wanted to be her.
Oh how I wished on every birthday and new years eve to lose weight and to be pretty.
I struggled so long with this issue of mine.
So long that it became a constant companion by my side.
See I longed for that day when everything would be alright.
For that day when I could look in the mirror and think I looked fine.
For the heavens to open up and the stars align,
crying out the one phrase that would change my mind;
you are beautiful, no matter what size.
See the heavens never opened up and the stars stayed the same
but all I can say is that my mindset changed.
Beautiful comes in many sizes, from extra small to triple extra large.

*-c.a.

i thought of him
and those hands
and that beard
dear god, he is ecstasy.

i thought of that laugh
and that smile
and those blue, blue eyes.
i cannot get enough.

the thought of his tie
and those lips
and the way he sticks out his tongue.
i sure would like a taste of him.

i thought about him
and his brain
and about what he thinks about,
maybe he thinks of me?

he must think of me,
he gives me gifts
and tells me he loves me.
doesn't that mean he cares?

maybe i'll never know.

Today, i thought nothing of it....
I did it again.
Falling in step woth the same cycle, over and over.
So when i showed a little too much skin,
Let a little too much be seen...
I wasnt surprised, but he saw.
And he looked up at me, with innocent brown eyes
And asked me what the marks on my waist were from.
He wanted to know if it was my dog,
His sometimes scratched him.
But, as he pointed out, his fluffy, loving black lab
Could never cut him that deep.
And he asked me why.
What i told him, was this:
I said
listen, sammy, listen to me. Im okay, okay?
He nodded, but the marks were too numerous
And even a five year old
Can sniff out a lie, just like their black lab.