so it starts with a girl, barely the age of 10 and already wondering when the baby fat will melt off
glances in the mirror at unwanted curves and softness
why would a 10 year old need to worry about their body?
comments from a father about diets and diseases and suddenly food stops being a necessity but a burden
a brother remarking how a second helping is how you develop diabetes, you don't eat again that night
mom tries to help, "you've got a nice figure" she says
it only makes you hate the softness more
so a girl, at the ripe age of 17, decides that food is no longer a nessesity but a burden
a few months into it a friend makes a joke how you need to start eating more because of how small you're getting
you laugh it off and ignore the pride swelling in your chest
because food was never good or nourishing
but rather numbers on a scale and buttons that didn't quite close
because food was always a burden and never a nesessity

This is me,
Apologizing.
Saying sorry
For whatever it
Is I have done
To you,
Whatever small
Things I’ve forgotten
Or the attempts
That have failed.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry our
Friendship
Couldn’t last,
I’m sorry for
Everything
I’ve done to
Ruin
It, and
I’m sorry for
All the things
I couldn’t do
And all the things
I could.

I’m sorry
For flitting
In and out of
Your life,
All the coming
And going,
Never staying
Still,
Never learning.

I’m sorry.

Someday,
I pray,
That you’ll
See me from
Afar, or think
Of me due to
Some offhanded
Comment or
Experiencing
Nostalgia,
And I pray
That you’ll
Think back on
Our friendship
And the times
We had and
Think

                        She once was my very best friend.
                        How different my life is because of her.

And you’ll
Keep thinking
And thinking,
And I pray you
Decide that
It wasn’t so
Bad,

Me changing your life.

I want to keep
Everything flowing
From me in such
Stupid honesty,
But the kindness
And apologies
Stop there.

I can’t say
I miss you,
I can’t say
That I’m so
Mournful of
Your leaving,
Of you moving
On and
Replacing
Me.

Because I’m not.

I’m not sorry for that.

I’m not sorry
For your silent
Judgments of me
That I’m sure
You thought
Were well-hidden.

I’m not sorry
For watching you
Turn from God
Himself, and
Letting me crumble.

                      I’m not sorry
I say.
                   You’d never been there for me,
                   And all I did was listen to you.
                   The world fell, piece by piece,
                   Around me, and all you saw
                  Was your selfish reflection.

I’m not sorry.

You never could
See me.

You just saw
A jester and
A confidence-booster.

Never a person,
Never the feelings,
Never me.

Just the jester.

To say it was
"At first sight"
Would be a lie.
I can recall
The sweet look upon your face.
The good-intentioned cool guy.
The offhanded wave
You casually tossed in my direction,
When we were forced
To sit together in the office.
And that day
For the first time
I shaped your name with my lips,
And held your gaze.
I had no interest,
You were too cool for someone
Like me.
And I could never know you, really.
And all
Had
Begun.

I should preface this by saying
that I have my good days, but

everything is in the wrong place
everything is in the wrong place

and I wish I could see in the mirror
what they have seen in me but instead

everything is disjointed and crushed
beneath offhanded comments, and
the overwhelming need to be pretty

I just want to be pretty
I just want to be pretty.

I've got a misguided belief that everything will be alright. But I still brood in disbelief almost every single night. So I sit in my room- teeth clenched and eyes closed. And think about the things about you I miss the most.

How you smile even though everything's gone to hell and how I get depressed when things are going twice as well. About you laughing in the car about some offhanded remark that I made when the piece of junk wouldn't start up.

I said I'd wait for you here
I'm rooted to this spot forever
It seems I'm stuck here in this place
Until the sky is falling.

She said you never write of falling in love. And I could only reply I write about things I know. Like losing trust and cutting wrists and breaking bones and being depressed.

And she told me to write about something else. And she said that it might help. So I'm writing this instead. But her voice still rings in my head.

But I'm not waiting for the answer. I'm not hanging around for this.

New York City is like a cobblestone symphony,
where jackhammers and footsteps form the rhythmic timpani,
sirens and honking taxis, are the cymbals, that provide sudden bursts of energy,
traffic’s hum could be the violins and pigeon squawks a chorus of industry.
The sounds of life never seem to stop because they echo around continually.

Fifth Ave is fashions seat and in every store we saw teenagers tweeting,
perfecting an offhanded pout to pair with their newest, elite treats.

Envisage a High-(snob)-society playground, a cathedral of style in concrete,
where high fashion brands compete, with glittering displays meant to tease and entreat.
Bergdorf's windows are a whimsical winter wonderland, without a single touch of green,
and Tiffany's underwater dreamscape, contends with Cartier’s minimalist sheen.

At night, the buzzy bars ignite, and laughter spills like sparkling champagne,
flanged martini glasses clink in chorus, to silly school year stories, and tipsy holiday refrains.

We all know that times like a ballet dancer, who pirouettes in increasing haste,
holidays don’t last forever, Yale’s not known for leisure and new terms must be faced.
But for now, we’ll steal kisses in Central Park, because we don’t have a second to waste.

Of course I love you.
How could I not?
No one has ever cared
as deeply as you,
Held me
as tightly as you,
Made me feel
as strongly as you.

First loves can be complicated,
because how do you know?
I was always scared of being the girl who said
I love you out of the blue,
two weeks into dating because
maybe she doesn’t understand what love really is.

I smile at every text you send me,
but that’s not love.
My heart skips a beat every time I see you,
but that’s not love.
I close my eyes every time you laugh,
        trying to memorize that sound.
But that’s not love.

No.
Love is sitting on bathroom floors
trying to remember how to breathe
while you wipe away my tears and hold my water bottle to my lips.
Love is the peace I feel when you hug me
and my cheek is pressed against your chest
and for that single moment all of the voices in my head go quiet.
Love is the small details remembered,
the red flags caught,
like when you bring me a sandwich wrapped in foil
because I forgot to eat and I mentioned it was my favorite once before.
Love is the contentment of
lying in your arms, watching movies,
talking,
listening as your breathing evens out.
Love is the perfect comfort of falling asleep tangled up with you.
Love is no longer looking for an escape,
because the world has finally showed me its beauty.

Curious that its beauty is named after you.
It has a messy apartment and shows up late to work.
Its bones crack and moan beneath shea-butter skin,
but it refuses to get them looked at
because, really, it’s fine.
(pop).
Beauty forgets to eat more often than not,
sometimes for days at a time,
and it really ****** me off.
It speeds and makes questionable jokes,
but it always has a comeback and a laugh to share.
Beauty takes the world’s ugliness in its stride,
but is not afraid of honesty.
It snores, but it won’t steal the covers.
Curious, that it is named after you.

So, here we are.
This time my three words are not “I am sorry.”
I am not sorry that I love you.
I am not sorry that I fell headfirst,
way too fast,
because god ****** how could they have made someone as perfect as you.
I am sorry if I overwhelmed you,
but I am not sorry that I said what I said,
and I do not take it back.

I don’t expect you to say it back,
Because that’s not what love’s about.
I am sharing my love for you,
Not expecting yours for me.
I’ve come close to saying it so many times,
Offhanded, like it was perfectly normal.
And I remember the exact moment when I realized,
With your kiss on my forehead and my arm draped over you,
That saying “I’m fond of you too” was an understatement.
I love you.
I fell asleep that night and had a dream that I said it.
And when I woke up the next day,
As I drove the two hours back to my house,
I realized that it was true.
I was terrified,
But I realized that I love you.

every single time I feel like we have something in common you ruin it with an offhanded remark about last holiday, where you drank an oceans worth, and bedded half the women in town.

its an obsession i never understood, perhaps i was damaged from the start, but everywhere i look i see this lust for lust, and it feels like nothing is sacred.

am i ****** for wanting a single soul to share the rest of existance with?

what an absurd idea.

the mere thought that because my chest seizes up everytime you tell your rose red tales, i would forbid you from living your life the way you chose.

i would change if i could.
i would grind down my sharp edges so that i could fit into the puzzle that is this world.
i have tried.
i swear, i've tried.