I don't think I've ever heard my father
Tell my mother that she was beautiful.
I'm sure of it.
Never.
There wasn't any positive comments on her appearance.
"Fix yourself up a bit!"
"When are you going to lose some weight?"
"I don't like your hair that way."
When I was sixteen I wrote her a note for mother's day
Telling her that she was genuinely beautiful.
And she cried.

I can't think of any positive comments on my appearance
That either of them spoke to me,
That didn't revolve around losing weight.
And then was only when I was throwing up on a daily basis.
Pocketing lunch money,
And measuring out one cup of cheerios every day
That I eventually stopped eating,
And starting storing in gallon bags hidden under my bed.
"Are you losing weight, good for you?"
It wasn't even that I looked good.
Or that I looked beautiful.
Or even that I looked healthy.
Just good that there was becoming less of me.
And to keep at it.
And I'm sorry sometime I try to fight you when you say you like my stomach.
I was always told it was unsightly and needed to be smaller.

My little sister listens when they call her fat, that her *** is big, that she needs to lose weight.
Constantly.
Not other kids.
My parents.
She asked me why she didn't have a boyfriend.
She's 15.
She thinks she is fat and doesn't like the way she looks.
I try to corner her every once in a while
And tell her not to listen to our parents.
Tell her that she is beautiful.
That her hair is soft, and her eye brows are flawless, and her tummy is gorgeous.

There has to be someone there to do that for her.
Someone to counter the words of authority.
And tell her that she is gorgeous.
So she never has to meet Ana or Mia.
Because she was average to below average weight
When she was in preschool,
and I in elementary school,
And were put on weight watchers by our mother in the summers.
Maybe because she was never told that she was beautiful.
And it poisoned her.

I’m not straight
I’m not your doll
I’m not your toy
You can’t play with me
Use me
Then discard of me when you’re done
I will not conform to your standards
Because I made my own a long time ago
Before I ever met you
I will not wear a dress or makeup
Because it makes you feel better
And more comfortable
I will not listen to your lies
Because the truth speaks louder
In my mind
I will not let myself savor your *******
Because ******* is disgusting and
I’m not disgusting
You think I am
You spit on me
You laugh at me
But I don’t care
Because I’m stronger than you
I deserve better
I may be the same age as you
I may even be younger than you
But my heart and soul have suffered years
Longer than your short pathetic excuse of a life
Because the you behind your eyes
Deep down inside
Is a vortex of hatred
Blackness
And your overinflated ego
You’re so shallow
You can’t drown me with your spite
And abuse
So while you’re putting me down
The voices in my head are having the time of their life
Laughing at you
And your ****** up
Hypocrisy

Your heart
Comprised of sheets of paper
So delicate
Torn and frayed at the edges
Worn out
Aged beyond its prime
A victim of folds and tears
Crinkles define its shadows and
Highlights

Yet it can leave little scars
Across daring fingers
That live off of
The excitement
Of fresh paper

It can be folded so easily
Twisted this way and that
Some may fold your heart
Crumple into a ball
Stomp on it
Sail it into the nearest trash can
Others rip it into little pieces
Until nothing is left
But little white snowflakes
Fluttering aimlessly about

When i found your heart
I remembered that time back in elementary school
When they taught us how to make art
Out of nothing but paper
So I took your heart
And put all of my love into it
Lovingly crafting
Origami masterpieces
After years of perfection
A paper crane emerges
Ready to fly away
And set free

I like to say I released you
But it was my hands that guided the way