"underweight" poems
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.
Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.
Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.
Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.
Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.
Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.
Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.
The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.
A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.
In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.
Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
This was our greatest fall.
Upon dieting we call.
Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
Fat, fat, fat.
All I see is fat.
I am the "chunkiest", the "chubbiest", the "roundest" and the "ugly pig".
I might as well be a rat, the biggest of the big.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "just right", "average", "normal" or "perfect size."
They lie every single time, and hell, just 'like that'.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "too skinny!", "I wish I looked like you", "wow! Size zero jeans?!" and "underweight".
Yet, I refuse to touch this cold, stocked plate.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "awful", "dying", Miss "eat something" and "throne of bones".
Yet, this body will never be my souls rightful home.
Fat, fat, fat.
All I ever will be is fat.
Even in a long gown and stuck to the end of an I.V pole,
With doctors and psychatrists and loved ones crying and begging me to just "recover, please come home!"
I am still fat.
The hospital bed is empty,
My bed is left untouched,
There is a silence as the wearers in black all sob and stare silently at the body in the ground.
Devasted and hushed...
I see them, but can no longer speak.
No longer able to feel, no longer live,
Forced to watch time pass and hearts mourn...
Their days now heartbroken and bleak.
My best friend doesn't speak, she now sits alone,
My mother sobs every night, family reminded
so often of my presence,
The one who secrelty loved me has loved no more,
Even my pets still wait outside my door.
Those who knew me, only can remember me in the things left behind,
Even the sun itself rarely shines.
Dead, lost, gone.
I am no longer fat,
But I also no longer- belong.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
Fat was the first word people used
to describe me when I was a kid
And that didn't bother me much
until I found out it was supposed to
By the time I was fifteen
I knew what it was like to be clinically
overweight, underweight and obese
It was the year of menthol cigarettes
and baggy clothes
Hunching naked over a scale shrine
Mixing ***** with vitamin water,
complimenting each others thigh gaps
*The year breakfast tastes like giving up
and the only time you feel pretty
is when you're hungry*
Not obsessed with being empty
but afraid of being full
Replacing meals with more practical hobbies
like planting flowers or fainting
And ever since I started evaporating,
girls that never spoke to me,
stopped in the hallway
and had the audacity to ask how
And when I told them I was sick,
they told me I was an inspiration
How could I not be in love with my illness?
My eating disorder was the most
interesting thing about me
But how lucky I am now to be boring
To look at a sandwich
and see just a sandwich
Not half an hour of sit ups
or two spent hugging the toilet
This is the year I find more productive
things to do than googling the amount
of sugar on the back of a
lick and stick postage stamp
The year the calculator in my head finally stops
The year that I eat when I'm hungry
without punishing myself
And I know that sounds stupid
**but that **** is hard**
If you're not recovering, you're dying
When people asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up,
I said skinny
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
You're a spoiled brat.
Daddy's always bought you everything.
Expensive clothing, expensive phones, expensive holidays.
Daddy's cash even bought you friends.
You think those girls actually like you?
You think they can't see your spiteful ways?
They're there for the $3 macaroons or souvenirs you gift them.
You think anyone who does not wish to hang out with you is below you.
You treat them like dirt.
Every time I say Hi to you, you completely ignore me,
as though I'm not even worth your time.
You only hang out with the 'pretty' girls,
or rather, your definition of pretty.
Underweight while wearing revealing clothing.
I've had enough of you.
Wake up or you'll eventually have no one else and you'll be left on the curb, alone.
But,of course, you'll always have your designer shades!
That's a relief, isn't it?
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
So this the story of
My childhood lane
I remember it clear
Nothing but pain
" You're so fat"
I was always told
I was living misery
Just nine years old
I starved myself
I got underweight
Got used to it all
For I never ate
Everyone noticed
Thought I was fine
I was really sick
And bearly nine
No one ever helped
No one ever knew
All the starvation
And lies I could do
They all assumed
I was naturally thin
Little did they know
What I have been
Continuously ill
To this very day
I can't recover
I'm not okay
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
I woke up this morning and felt like doing some cutting
Just for the heck of it.
I didn't, if only because I had no reason
I had no time
I made two promises,
And with them, I never lie.
Got up, dressed, finished a project due by 2:30
Before school starts my brother comes down
Scale in hand, telling me to get on so he can see if he weighs more
Always wanting to be taller, weigh more
So I can be his 'little sister'
I sigh, step on. Expecting my usual of 90-92
86
Freak out mode: on.
I forgot to eat properly over the last 24 hours, maybe that's it
I only got 5 hours of sleep the last 2 nights, maybe that's it
I've been really stressed by school, maybe that's it
Almost time to go and somehow I still can't eat, I don't want to.
I need to though.
Let me explain this: I normally weigh about 92 pounds
95 is what I should weigh
I need to gain weight anyway, but high metabolisms don't like that
So usually I am 3 pounds underweight
Today it was about 10.
Go to school, should eat but don't want to
Standing, waiting, anticipating what?
Hand my friend three cookies, I tell the group my problem
One cookie handed back(other two previously eaten)
Told to eat by four friends, too hard to explain why I can't eat
Numerous reminders to eat
Lunch: I'm handed some chicken nuggets, ice cream
Half jokingly threatened that I won't be talked to unless I eat
Begged to eat
Strangely: I have no such desire
I have minimal amounts of body fat(less than 10 percent)
But even so, I can feel weight missing,
The absence of my already flat belly, surreal to think about
I still don't feel like eating, not really hungry
No other explanation
Friend tells me to pig out when I get home
Quiz bowl after school and I'm only ever so slightly hungry
But not much
A friend steals my gym shoes, mom comes
At home I eat some butter and honeyed toast, tea, candied ginger, half a thing of crackers
Report to friend # 2 who then proceeds to command me to eat more, and interrogates on why I'm not eating
Tell friend # 1 as well, his approval expressed
Dinner and afterwards I only feel hungrier... so strange.
I check the scale again
89
Better, but still too low.
I need to work on this...
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
My lunchtime consists of either not eating or stuffing my face till the words "fat *** crawl out of my friends mouth. The words sting me like a bee or a metaphor that's been overused like...being stung by a bee. Let's think about this for a minute though, think about whether or not I should feel guilty for my pleasures. I started starving myself sophomore year, the words breakfast lunch and dinner made me want to puke out the hatred I have for a body whose done nothing to me. At one point I tried to love myself, tried to show that food isn't the enemy it's just the voices in my head that tell me it is. "You should lose weight." "You're out of shape" "Fat *** these count for each stretch mark I have on my body that crept up slowly and silently on me like a murderer to his victim. One was from my dad, two was from my friends, three was from my mom cause she said I was so handsome, four cause I don't deserve to eat, five cause I want to be pretty. Six because guys like me don't get to be pretty.
It doesn't end easily or quickly. I've gone from overweight to underweight to a healthy weight to a weight where I pull back the flabs of skin so I can count my ribs one by one again. I've even gotten to the point where if somebody tells me I look good all I can think is that they're lying. I see a difference between fat and fat, the words itself form the gelatinous image you imagine when thinking of them, sounding sour as it comes off my tongue. You don't have to be a girl to have an eating disorder, a ****** up concept that society hasn't quite grasped yet.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
Belly full of water
Brush, spit, and repeat…
Temporary painted cobweb of ******
Crust, synthetic yellow, and discomfort
Constantly sightseeing shirts I don’t own
Slim, disproportionate, and underweight
My senior-prom photos exist, still
2009, RIP: Caniglia's Venice Inn, and tie-dye.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
I don't like to call myself anorexic anymore
because I no longer skip meals
I haven't thrown up over a toilet
and I haven't weighed myself in a year
but the thoughts still exist
my mind still counts calories
for example there are 420 in the saltine ******* I just ate
which is already half way over my daily calorie intake
or would be half way over my daily calorie intake
if I was still anorexic
which I'm not
even though I haven't thrown away my scale yet
It just sits in my room like a prized possesion
Like a priceless talesmen I gained from my last adventure
sometimes I look at thinspiration
just to remember how good it felt
not that I save the photos to my phone anymore
not that I recite the words they say in my head
my favorite one though
not that I have a favorite one
would be having collar bones that collect raindrops
because I could do that
If I really tried I could get skinny enough to capture the rain
to walk outside, feel the drops, and have them stay
I still never finish my food
not that I'm counting calories anymore
but if I was the extra pieces of food on my plate would still count \
even when I eat food just to spit it out
not that I do that anymore
not that I'm anorexic again
because I'm not
I still think I'm fat
but who doesnt
I mean if you saw me in a dress you would know what I mean
I started wearing baggy clothes again
not that I have to hide how skinny I am
Because I'm not even starving myself
You know I gained 22 pounds?
Not that that's a problem
105 was underweight
but being in the 120s is not okay
maybe I'll cut back a little on what I eat
but I'm not anorexic
trust me
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
When I was just a little kid
I never liked a ****
When I grew up it didn’t change
When I went to work.
I didn’t much like pranks and such
And most practical jokes,
Whoopie cushions, pulled out chairs
And winking, leering blokes.
It was much more annoying to me
When the liars got to win.
It made me want to call them names
And kick them in the shin.
How anyone ever thought well of them
Made no sense to me.
They should have been taken to task
And called the enemy.
Schoolyard antics
Made me frantic
When they harassed the weak
The underweight, those in glasses
Those whose noses were tweaked.
Why didn’t their parents teach
These creeps to be more kind?
Or keep them home full time,
I’m sure nobody would mind.
Now I hate to watch the news
And see how many got elected.
If the average voter doesn’t know
At least they should have suspected
When billions of dollars disappear
And nobody is ever put in prison.
That means there are jerks out there
And that doesn’t take a lot of wisdom.
I sometimes wish Kafka was right
And the evil woke up differently.
Maybe they could be one foot tall
And not quite reach my knee.
Then we could see the crooks arrive
And lock them out of our conventions.
We’d just have to lglance to know
That they have dishonest intentions.
Schoolyard antics
Made me frantic
When they harassed the weak
The underweight, those in glasses
Those whose noses were tweaked.
Why didn’t their parents teach
These creeps to be more kind?
Or keep them home full time,
I’m sure nobody would mind.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
I'm trying so hard to fit in,
But the pressure is high to be masculine.
I go to the gym everyday
For at least 4 hours - that's the way
to keep on losing all of this weight.
I can't remember the last time that I ate.
Water fasts, laxatives, diuretics galore,
This is an illness no one should ignore.
1 stone, 2 stone, 3 stone gone,
Nothing left for my body to live on.
But nobody listened when I asked for help in this,
Because I am a male my struggles with anorexia went amiss.
I became dangerously underweight,
My organs began to fail - now I know my fate.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Society is disease
Spreading, coursing through my veins
Choking my lungs
Polluting my brain
Skin, bones, eating disorders is beauty
Being underweight is ****
stomaching to much emotionally not enough physically
Maybe i should take on smoking to get me through the day
Maybe i should do drugs to take the hunger away
Society expects too much and gives to little
This world is so corrupt.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
am i insane that i want a label for this
thing living in my mind
i can't enjoy food
without making it a numbers game
carbs and calories, carbs and calories
not too much meat but keep protein up
fats are okay as long as it's not oil
and you know the exact caloric value
measure every bite
weigh everything
round up
add it up twice just in case
you were wrong the first time
i'm not even close to underweight
but i can't stand without getting faint
they tell me it's my bipolar acting up
but do you know how many times
someone has looked at me and said
"you're not my usual type,
i usually go for the really tiny ones"
god, i'm making it sound like it's worse
than it is, i'm teenage girl
trying to be dramatic, right?
but why can't i look at a photo of myself
without wanting to cry
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
it's so terribly sad
that unless you're located
in a place with no or little food
people are criticized for their weight
put in boxes
[overweight]
[underweight]
and there's no
[perfect weight]
instead there are people
on diets
to gain
or to loose
to attempt to get the
[perfect weight]
there are adults
teenagers
children
who only want food
they're in their own box
they're [starving]
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
1...2...3...4
I don't want to be underweight anymore.
My intention was never to go this far you see
But overactive self criticism got the best of me.
Determined to gain life back.
But sometimes put off track
by the illusion of control from my perfectionist mind
I sometimes find myself in a bind
My mind at war
What for?
The voice is not a choice
But recovery is
Constantly resisting the urge to restrict
So I will no longer look sick
Life is tough.
Life is rough.
But if a group of small people can change how I see
I can learn to accept just being me.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
Please grasp me,
press me to your chest.
Hush my frenzied inhalations,
I can bear this pain no longer.
Dip your fore-finger,
across the roughed wake,
of my cheek.
Blot away the trauma.
Rest your chin
dangle its weight
my head -jeering-
screeching
little girl-
clutches her temples.
It flickers, clarifies.
Back and forth,
Rocking, in fragmented, jerking
motions- her underweight
figure slammed along.
Blood purges with each
maddened- hoarse gurgles
the spittle deposits at
the overhang of her lip.
Snagged in the animosity,
of gnawing, writhing inhumanity.
TASTE IT rusted copper
An ashing purple, crusty
and running over engorged rims
of milky cocoa.
Darling, tip out your tongue,
lap up the shrivels
of failed organs and deprived marrow.
Images, flicker.
Pulse, with the steady
throb of an aching yawn.
shift
Reality sweltering
Chilled moisture scoffs-
the nape of your neck.
Muddled, focus,
focus.
honing in
back-
and-
forth.
Rocking back and forth,
no good.
Not good enough.
No help.
Flicker
malicious snarls.
Fluctuating horror,
impales your upper thigh.
-SILENCE-
Whispering -hush-
-hush-
don't
let him hear
hush
whispers
Make it STOP
whispers
-hush hush-
help
ME
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
You call me a freak?
You, who has no real friends?
You, who has only followers?
You, who intimidates instead of being friendly?
You call me a freak?
You, who has never studied a day in your life?
You, who reads on a fifth grade level?
You, who is failing all of your classes?
You call me a freak?
You, who calls yourself fat when you’re clearly underweight?
You, who is afraid to eat?
You, who is all stick and bones?
You call me a freak?
You, who wears outrageous, “fashionable” clothes?
You, who wears four-inch heels to gym class?
You, who wears enough hairspray to make your air look like plastic?
Yet you still have the nerve to call me a freak?
You, who smiles confidently when I don’t respond?
You, who widens your eyes when I smile back?
You, who stares speechless when I roll my eyes and walk away?
You, who can’t comprehend why I don’t run away in tears?
You, who doesn’t know why I just walked away?
You, who can’t figure out my true thoughts on you?
I pity you.
I pity you for your fake friends.
I pity you for your future.
But most all, I pity you for the fact that you have to put others down to make yourself feel good.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC
fingers ice cold
identity pinned on arbitrary digits
spilling the rotten flowers from her insides
counting pumps of panic juice
one, two, three. not enough.
she scrubs until her hands are red and raw.
four, five, six. they're not clean enough just yet.
waking up freezing and covered in sweat,
voice filling up volumes,
feeling every person who has ever
touched her skin.
sitting and shaking in spanish class,
quietly looking up the number of sleeping pills she needs
to get into her wretched body
in order to disappear forever.
craving the feeling of the cold blade on her hot skin
the red ribbons erupting onto her sheets
blinding anger, sadness, grief turns to
physical pain
staring at "severely underweight bmi" girls
scribbling on her injured wrist what she needs
to get to that point. she's almost there.
**** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself, she writes.
**** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself.
one day, she breaks,
dying a thousand deaths as sirens wail
peeling the tape off the IV they attached to her vein
hearing her mother cry
liver damage. severe blood loss. hallucinations. stitches necessary. psych ward? she's convulsing. must be in shock.
finding herself surrounded by broken girls and boys
in a white-walled facility
made for lunatics, just like her.
smiling through session after session until they say,
she's ready.
scraping through as she plans
how to keep the dead flowers just for herself.
months later, finding herself
in another home for lunatics
tiny quiet shaking girls just like her
being fed sugar water through her nose
on her eighth day, saying
a single first word to her therapist.
okay.
sharing a room with a wrinkly zucchini of a girl
turning pink and crying when
the soft soul walks in the room,
finally giving her a beautiful flower to hold.
all her hidden blossoms spilling out of her chest
ugly, shameful plants finally revealed
for the first time in many moons,
she's no longer ashamed of them.
falling in love with the girl two doors over,
erupting into giggles
sneaking around the milieu wearing
rose coloured-glasses,
fingers intertwined.
sitting in a circle of winter girls,
our flowers resting on our laps,
our fingers warmed by
the touch of one another.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
I once knew a girl from Addison, Illinois.
She had extremely curly hair.
A bright smile.
And big brown eyes that twinkled from her happiness.
She was the chubbiest of babies.
Born at 8 pounds!
However, she grew up.
Her eyes stopped twinkling.
Her hair stopped curling as much.
Her smile faded.
She lost so much weight.
Underweight, she was.
Oh how I wish to see that same child.
Born in Addison.
8 pounds.
With sparkling eyes.
How I wish to see myself
as a young, healthy child.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
i stand below the line
my ribs stand out on their own
i am not thin enough
i need to be only bone
i'll starve the demons out of me
purge until they're gone
i won't let food touch my lips
i've been too big, too long
the voices that i hear
they tell me i'm not good enough
no one will ever love me
because i weigh so god **** much
------
i stood below the line
they said i was underweight
but all i saw was fat
and all i felt was hate
i cried the demons out of me
wept until i was numb
i didn't let people see
the monster that i had become
the voices that i used to hear
told me i had to go
that if i wanted freedom
my blood would have to flow.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
i was happier a few months ago.
sadder, too, more depressed; but happier
with myself,
with my face,
with my body
(even if i didn't realise it;
"you never know what you have
until it's gone"
is true.
scrawny, underweight body,
sharp cut cheekbones,
jaw practically pushing out of my skin—i miss you guys)
my mornings were dedicated
to porridge
and being on time for college,
and coffee so dark, my friends asked:
"what's the point of using milk?"
the point, my friends, is that
even though i am dark
and bitter,
with a temper so hot
i have to spit it out
(in insults, in graphic descriptions of premeditated ******
lest it scald my tongue—
there is still some good within me.
not much,
but there it is:
just enough to taste it
if you close off other senses and
focus. really focus.
i think it is about time
i sought out my self-destructive
methods of
happiness
once again.
i am tired
of feeling like my own enemy
when
i am already certain
that the world is out to get me.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
"They're going to see how fat you really are if you eat in front of them. "
no, they'll know I'm working on recovery.. this is recovery
"You didn't eat breakfast, so the day is already off to a good start. Why ruin it?"
i need to eat... food is good for me. it is fuel
"Food is fat. "
youre wrong
"Am I?"
...
"When you were in that awful place and they made you eat you gained, didn't you?"
yes but..
"You. Gained. Weight. "
my heart was in trouble
"They were lying. You weren't even underweight yet. We haven't reached our goal. "
maybe..
"We can still reach our goal. "
i don't know
"See? That wasn't so hard. Like old times, a lie here, a lie there. It's nothing. "
nothing..
"You're doing much better. "
i feel so tired
"That's from carrying all that extra fat on your body. "
they want me to go back to treatment
"NO. Everything we've worked for would be RUINED!!"
i don't feel good
"You're fine. You're beautiful. You're thin. "
my chest hurts
"You just need to do more cardio"
"Hello?"
"We reached our goal my love. Congratulations. You're all bone. "
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
We all have things about ourselves we dont like
Each and every person is their own worst enemy.
Seems ironic that where I type should be called the "body"
When all there is to it, im not happy with my body.
I could never stand to look at myself in the mirror,
I am not overweight, more ideal for my height but nearing underweight
I dont have my face covered in boils and acne, though my back is acne ridden, not that I care
I am very very tall, I hated it
I think most of all I hated that certain area of my body...
How could anyone take to it..?
The day you saw my body you told me you loved it
My height was perfect and that it was right height to be able to cuddle into my chest
You told me I had a nice body and abdomen, I started to love myself.
One day you saw me in nothing, and at the moment I thought youd no longer love me the same you told me I was ****
So why is it I still cant love me, why is it that even now that area is the one place Im not perfect...
Do I dare even type it..?
...I have no obligation or need to but suddenly I wasnt perfect
My perfect imperfection
Suddenly you thought differently, viewed me in your head different and It just wasnt the same
I never loved myself, you helped me to love me but despite my best efforts I could never help you to love your body...
Now I struggle to love mine...and find sorrow in you not loving yours...
We are perfect as we are...If only we believed those words...
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
I've always been small, underweight, and short.
Maybe that's why my dreams have always been big, larger than life.
At 3 I was going to be a Queen and rule the kingdom.
At 5 an astronaut was my calling.
By 7 I would be president.
At 12 a noble prize winner in medicine, curing every disease in the world.
15 a world traveler offering aid and ending injustice.
16 taking over the world seemed more my style.
Now I'm 18 barely an adult and my biggest dream is love.
Earth shattering, world changing, unstoppable,contagious love.
After all these years I want hand holding, cuddles, lame jokes, stupid fights.
I want taking his hoodies, date nights, cooking food, dancing in the rain.
I want romance, I want hard and easy times, the good and the bad.
I want commitment.
I want him to be mine.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC