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The lines
around
your eyes
and mouth
that
appear
and
disappear
with every
sunburst smile
are the
little maps
of where you have been
and
where I hope
to travel.
 Mar 2015 Nicole Hammond
Torak
Home
 Mar 2015 Nicole Hammond
Torak
I've tasted you at the bottom of bar glasses
your 'i love yous' reek of cheap scotch
and i am a recovering alcoholic
i refuse to taste the disappointment of your fingertips
you're still swallowing the night that the gun refused to fire
and I swear I can still hear the gun shot ringing in my ears
i wonder if I tied my own self loathing to my ankles if I would still be able to swim
in the ocean that is your love
or what was
There aren't enough narcotics to help me forget about your laugh
911 operators recited your suicide note to me
and I've heard my name enough times to want to drain my body
the bags under my eyes spell out
remorseful
and the tears on your grave aren't mine
but just know im coming home to you
it feels like the feather of a bird;
so light and airy like
when you're walking down the street
and someone bumps into you
you praise every higher power out there that
you didn't collapse because
you're just so small and everyone
else tells you that you're so pretty
but you don't feel pretty you just want
to go back to the old you but
that's impossible because the feeling of swallowing
something scorches your throat as if there's acid
in it and the feeling of substance in your stomach
scars more than any stretch mark ever could
and big sweaters become your best friends because they
cam hide your weight and when you're tired of everything
you just swing by park and engulf yourself with a big
sweater even though you wish it could be human touch but
you haven't let anyone touch you in 3 months because then
they'd see how hollow you are and somewhere in
the back of your mind you know this is a problem but you
don't want to admit you have another problem,
so instead you let big sweaters swallow you whole;
and you keeping cursing every time that guy on the
street comes around because if he bumps into you with
that basketball you might shatter
and you've already done so much,
and everyone thinks you look so pretty
that's all you ever wanted to be, pretty

*do you feel pretty now?
i've been trying to write a poem on this for so long but i don't like it so i might do another poem about this
 Feb 2015 Nicole Hammond
Bella
Pretty is a six-letter word that can’t encompass your entire being in its arms. You were born to a mother who wore pain like trees wear their rings, as marks of fierce bravery and battle cries. You almost split her insides open coming out, wailing so hard the plaster cracked, but she grinned and bore it like a champion, even though the walls of her womb felt like one giant cigarette burn that no one cared enough to put out.

You are Icarus incarnate, with a body stitched from wings, flying toward the sun every day no matter how low the storm clouds hover. Pretty is not a synonym for learning how to put together a body that fights itself every day with pocket knives, like assembling letters to form words that flame in the mouth. That’s called survival. Pretty is an ugly word. It leaves behind a bitter residue that apologies cannot erase. Pretty is just an excuse for playing darts with a woman’s confidence.

When told you are not pretty, always remember how your body expanded to fit its widening cage, its blooming hips, how the growing pains were less like pain and more like cracking fault lines. How your body turned itself inside out and spilled over and over again. Getting emptied is not pretty. It is dark and wounding and it requires strength enough to move mountains.

On your worst days do not look in the mirror and call yourself pretty. Call yourself trying, call yourself surviving, call yourself learning how to get through a day, a week, a month or year. Call yourself still learning. Pretty is just six letters for lipstick, false eyelashes, combs for hair that never gets tangled, not for women who earn a victory every day just managing to exist.

When told you are not pretty, do not **** in your stomach. Pretty is a discriminatory word, but having a body that knows what it wants and gets what it wants is not a hate crime. It’s a healing hymn.

Don’t forget how trees shake their last leaves in winter like they’re shedding skin from the old year. Shed pretty. Shed it now. Teach yourself to replace it with heart-wrenching, brilliant, clever, artistic, unique, understanding, fighting. Always living.

When told you are not pretty, don’t fall in love with the ground. Get back up. This is not an apocalypse; this is not the end of the world. A six-letter word doesn’t have the power to burn down every building in site or freeze the entire world in epic proportions. Your body is not wreckage or refuse left over from a world on fire. Your body is just fine.

Look in the mirror. Tell yourself, Pretty is not me. Pretty is an ugly concept. I am more.
 Feb 2015 Nicole Hammond
Bella
Tonight he leaves you with a pile of his favorite CDs;

you dream of loading them onto Noah’s Ark before the flood,

along with his 3 A.M. texts and prescription glasses;

he will talk to you when she is not around,

look directly into your eyes, until your heart cracks

and spills into his palms like a weak egg yolk

ready for the frying pan. Do not wait for his little green Facebook

symbol to light up or you will be up all night.

He will kiss her in front of you, a kiss so deep

it could cut straight to the bone like an interrogator

slowly removing a suspect’s finger with a carving knife.

Shield your eyes and turn away;

pretend you are casually studying the poster on the wall.

You will wonder if her body leaves an outline in his bed

the same way a crime scene is taped off

around the chalked-in edges of the victim,

and still he will call you twenty minutes before midnight

wanting to go out for ice cream

when you end up comparing the best 90’s music

over his kitchen table instead. When he looks at you

across this very same table, stare directly back.

Do not flinch. Do not turn away this time.

Let the tidal wave of his stare wash over you

until it drenches your hair

and he wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers:

let him. Let him.

It will take a while to work through the tangles

but savor this last moment with his fingers

unknotting you like needles, before tomorrow,

when he will go back to her again, bouncing

between the two of you like a yo-yo,

the kind that returns to the owner

then moves on to another when it grows bored.
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