how to not let every single thing break my heart? asking for a friend
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no one writes poetry about fat girls
you’ll always hear the poems about collarbones, and jawlines, and thin fingers decorated with rings
you’ll read about the way her thighs barely touch, or the way her lace panties wrap perfectly around her hip bones
an image will be painted of her arms outstretched, muscles visible, and the only thing that jiggles when the bounces up and down excitedly is her breasts
you’d be hard pressed to find a poem about the way my arms move when i wave, or the way my stomach looks in a shirt that’s just a little too tight
you’ll never see my double chin painted in such a light that makes you long for it, you’ll never read about how attractive it is that you can only see my fucking collarbones on an x-ray, or how i haven’t seen my jawline in years
you won’t hear about how my lingerie keeps slipping down under my stomach, or how my bralette keeps riding up, or how i have to get my size 10 rings adjusted before i grab things too tight
nothing about a girl who is overweight will be appealing ENOUGH to write about.
big is beautiful and all that, but on me, it isn’t.
in the end i’m glad that i was the test run so that my exes could learn what a healthy relationship is and how to treat people you date
the only time i was ever whole or at peace was when your arms were around me.
but when you unwrapped them you took half of me with you, and it’s the hardest puzzle i’ve ever had to put back together.
i was your amber
but now she’s your shade of gold
stone cold- demi lovato
going “home”
the home
that was no home
beckons
.
there is that
smile
that gesture
.
no no
it won’t be like last time
try and see
.
rejection
gaslighting
that push from
the top of the stairs
eat our sins
carry the shame
.
they that ought to know
why I changed my name
.
to disassociate
by my own choice
this time
.
to be
no part of them
.
they
that ought
to know
.
blindfolded blinkered
nothing happened here
we are a perfect family
static as a portrait
hidden from ourselves
.
the one who
escaped
the one who
tore off the blindfold
ungagged
.
stopped the bleeding
ran
never came back
.
they use my dead name
as if it meant nothing
.
which it did
I was nothing
.
and now I am
something
.
not blind nor deaf
nor dumb any longer
.
I don’t keep the secret
it was never mine
.
no
I am not going
“home”
again
.
-uschi-the-listener-
ufosfordahoes