I have to keep reminding myself that you didn’t come to my Birthday
and you never read my poetry
even though poetry is easy to read.
And you didn’t come over that time I needed you
but I am always there when you need me.
I’ve come to understand how people can be disposable
because you treat me like a used tissue:
you only come to me when you have no one left.

You didn’t come to my Birthday.

bloody lips

I use my own blood for lipstick
     because everyone tells me how pretty my personality is –
           I want my insides on my face
so I can be pretty there too.
And my sister never had to prick her finger for red lips
   because she doesn’t need ruby red lips like I do
everyone notices her beauty.
She’s a piece of art, my sister,
    and people want her in their paintings
        and in their photos.
  I’m the other one – the second one,
the one shaking with anger,
the one whose sadness is under the carpet.
But at least I’ll have nice lips,
even though they’re cracked,
     at least they’ll glow.
 You don’t have to hug me
and tell me that it’ll all be okay
like you do to her every single time we visit,
becuase my loneliness is my reality
and her loneliness is only an illusion.
Instead, I’ll stay up every night until 3am,
the darkness comforts me more than you ever did
and the cold has taught me more than you have.
       No one wants to kiss my bloody lips
hers look fuller.
I’ve forgotten how to steal love
but I don’t even know if I want it back.

I am a mess

I’m learning to appreciate
what they all called “average.”
    My mother only ever asked me
             about my sister’s beauty,
                 it was never the other way around.
I am plain-faced with dry lips
and a scar on my right eye,
overweight and short-legged.
  But I try to speak like poetry,
          and when I laugh I want to sound like music
      and I wish my face was carved from stone.
Because I can’t hide from your camera forever,
    even if your camera is hiding from me.
          The lens doesn’t look like my reflection
               and the vain reflection doesn’t look like me.
I am plain-faced with dry lips
and a scar on my right eye,
curvy and short
    with a laugh like thunder
          and a face carved from the constellations.
                                      (I am a mess. I am me.)

Sad Music

Do you remember the night you called me crying?
              You said “I can’t believe he did that to me.”
I gave you a CD filled with sad songs the very next day
    and you listened to my selection of
           M83, Beach House, and Daughter
        for the next few weeks
before you decided to forgive him.
And you forgot about how much you could relate to
         Too Late, New Year, or, Landfill.
But, it wasn’t long until you called me again,
and you told me about how you couldn’t believe it:
                                                  he had done it again.
I made you another CD,
     but you never mentioned listening to it
          because you were back with him sooner than before.
Now, when you call so late at night
         I know what to expect.
    And I haven’t made anyone a CD in years.


“Attractive for a fat guy,”
or, just “attractive”?
“Attractive for a fat girl,”
or, just “attractive”?

Why can’t I be both
attractive and fat
without the need to be called both?
If I’m “attractive for a fat girl,”
aren’t I just attractive?
Aren’t I still human?

“Fat for an attractive girl,”
or, just “attractive”?
“Fat for an attractive guy,”
or, just “attractive”?

Fat, heavy, overweight,
or, “just human”?

My body is not a disease.
My body is not your canvas.
My body is attractive,
and not for “a fat girl,”
but for me.


My life                      And so,                 I cannot be
revolves                   I believe               happy
around                     that I can’t be      nor can I be
phrase                      happy,                  sad
“you cannot             because                I can only
be sad                    “someone              be in between
because                   will always            never really
someone else          be happier            feeling
is always                  than                       anything.
sadder than you”.    me”                       Nothing.

I have to make a list

  1. I’ve often thought about ripping off my ears so
  2. I can’t listen to you talk anymore.
  3. My brain is pulsing from
  4. Listening to you yell at me and
  5. One day my mind is going to collapse.
  6. I told you to be quiet,
  7. Be quiet, but
  8. Nothing ever works.
  9. I tried to stop talking back, thinking that maybe
10. I was the problem, but
11. I was not the problem.
12. You were the problem.
13. You are the problem.
14. There is nothing wrong with me, and
15. My ears are for listening to the rain, not for
16. You.
17. I have to make a list,
18. List all the reasons that I
19. Deserve to be here because
20. Your voice is making me feel like I don’t.