10 Things



1.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me 
hard.
2.
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
3.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
4.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
5.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
6.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
7.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
8.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
9.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
10.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
hard.
— Rachel Wiley

a quiet yearning of things wanted


"And then there was tragedy and death in her eyes
and she told me with a broken smile
that she never felt more alive."


I will travel all over the world
and cross continents and swim oceans
and leave bits and pieces of myself
scribbled on walls, carved on wood,
bitten into old apple cores, and
stained as teardrops on paper.

I will meet many people
and dance and laugh and cry with them
and taste their exotic flavours
and immerse myself in cultures
way beyond my comprehension.

I will leave you almost as quickly as I arrived
and we will not miss each other
but only think fondly of the memories that once were
and always will be.

Hollow, hollow- o sweet sorrow.
I'll dwell with you, dear friend,
and slowly understand why it never pains me when others leave.
Sometimes I think that I am not meant to experience,
but maybe merely to observe.


tulips embrace




And it was there in that moment when our lips met,
that I truly understood who she is.

She kissed me with such force
that I first confused with passion.
That maybe thoughts were equal
and feelings were requited.
But love felt hollow
and the feelings were numb–
but soon she started to tell me
a story without words.

Her fingers then began to move daintly–
a light pitter-patter up my arms.
Her mouth moved with mine
almost in synch with her hands
that now tousled my hair.

As she let herself undone before me
just like I always fantasized she would,
I closed my eyes to fully bask in
the beauty of a dream turned reality.

Her kisses now sounded like a silent plea
for God knows what troubles this poor soul.
Her light gasps felt as though they suffocated her-
and I could swear the tear on my cheek wasn't mine.

And so if anyone were to ask
for a plain explanation of
the unraveling events of that day:

I kissed because I love her;
she kissed because she didn't.

fran the nan, not so bland




Francine Silverman was a pretty little lass,
with a button little nose and a red tangled mess.
Francine was as happy as happy could be,
right until she hit puberty.

One morning she awoke to a spotted invasion,
dots and spots
forming ugly constellations.
The red was no longer restricted to her head-
a plain fact that now filled her with dread.

Francine was then christened with several new names-
many that were taunting and gave her unwanted fame.
Francine was strong and simply shrugged it off,
no one knew what she hid behind her laugh.

Cruel words, however, broke her fragile little wall,
She could take it no longer; she began to fall.

The very next day,
a new spot stained her bed-
one that went
right through her head.

a future thought




Oh darling take us back to the summer days
where breezes play in our hair
Where we'd stuff our mouths with crumbly cookies
and danced and sang and laughed and cried without a care in the world

I tell you it is indeed a tremendously terrible tragedy
to be in a place where you thought you had solace
but yet be unable to call it a home.

Night darkness in sight and I feel my lips
shape themselves into a deep parentheses.
I am happy, I think.
I look forward to the future with a mixed sense of trepidation and anticipation.
I know not of what is yet to occur, and yet I bask in the uncertainty of it.
I have dreams and things I want to do and feel and experience
and I thank God that I have parents who are understanding.

It took awhile and a fair bit of observation to understand
that I am a drifter-
mainly in social conventions, and perhaps-
in future occupations as well.
I have no fixed home and yet am able to find
what i need in areas I wander and seek.

What will become of me?
Here I am plotting my romanticized future in my head
and yet I could be dead tomorrow.

Oh! The beauty in uncertainty.

dearest- always once and forevermore



I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you. -Shinji Moon
Dearest,

I want you to know that it is okay to find something sad and lovely at the same time.
I want you to know that you should not fear Death,
but embrace him because Death is a friend-
a mere companion to ease your lonesome journey across
the bridge to the other side.
I want you to know I care deeply for you
and I will write you as many wordy letters oozing with words of adoration
because I know even the tiniest, kindest words will crack a smile on your thin lips-
albeit the headstrong, different person you are.

I want you to know that I will never give you flowers,
even after you die,
because I know how much it pains you to see
something lovely picked to die
for the temporary appreciation by another.

Most of all, I want you to grow and be happy.
I want you to learn to embrace your flaws endearingly-
all the noticable dents and creases that streak and damage your once smooth complexion
but never once leaving a scar on your personality.

I want you to feel what I feel.
I want you to grow to love the person I fell shamelessly for.