24 hours in 1 day; January 24.
That was the mnemonic I used to remember your birthday.
Ironically enough,
you cried when you told me
while I was on a strange, jovial high.
The conversation was speckled
with laughter and disappointment yet
I'll honestly tell you that conversation
was the best we've probably had in a while.
You asked me why I wasn't upset or angry.
I told you I probably
suffered from 'delayed reaction syndrome'
and I'll probably cry later
when everything hits me.
The first time I cried
was when I examined my body
and realized your love bite was no longer there.
I suppose that was when
it truly hit me I had lost you.
I cried in several intervals-
horrid, interrupted, breaks of unfulfilled cries.
It was at two in the morn',
then five when I had to pee,
ten when I thought of you again
and one in the afternoon
when I told myself to just let go.
As I sat and cried,
I thought of how pathetic I looked
and laughed to myself
as I imagined telling you this.
Then I stopped laughing.
I turned to the pianoforte for solace,
thinking perhaps the dancing keys
would soothe me.
I only managed four chords
before breaking down.
I told myself out loud to stop crying.
Eventually, I just let myself
wallow and cry
because I knew I needed to to heal.
I asked you if you were happy
and after the second ask,
you said you were.
You asked me in frustration
why I didn't hate you.
I'm still trying
to figure that out myself.
It amazes me on how
I harbour no negative feelings
towards you.
I hope it stays this way.
You asked 'Are you okay?'
and then you answered
'No, of course
you're not okay,
what a stupid question'
and then you said
'I'm so sorry' and
ended it with my name.
I replied 'It's alright'
and then you said
'No, it isn't'
and the cycle repeated itself.
You said I would have more time
to focus on my assignments now
and that I wouldn't have to look
at the awful stickers that
accompanied your messages.
Somehow, it didn't make me feel any better.
I told you to take care of her,
to be chivalric and make sure
she walked on the inside of the road
and to hold her hand for reassurance-
just like you used to do for me.
As I got out of the car,
I wished you a happy life.
But I genuinely mean it,
I do.
-Two days later; January 28.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
”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.
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.
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