I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
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.
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.
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.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
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.
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 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.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
She’s on a cruise right now so she’s not “in the country” so I can’t call her and she didn’t tell me when she was coming back and I really really want to talk to her.
I feel really weird lately. Like, during the day, I don’t care about shit and I don’t do my homework and stuff and then at night when I’m trying to sleep my brain just ping-pongs the fact that I’m going nowhere with my life and how I’m not making any progress.
When I manage to get to sleep I have bad nightmares and can’t sleep anymore. If I have a good dream, it’s about stuff I don’t want to dream about and I wake up annoyed.
During the day I don’t even feel like doing things that I like to do. I took a personal day on Wednesday. You know what I did with a whole day to myself?
NOTHING. I sat around and stared at a computer screen. I didn’t open tumblr/facebook/twitter, I didn’t refresh them, I didn’t post, I didn’t comment I did NOTHING.
Something’s seriously up with me and I can’t figure out what and I just want to talk to her or my therapist. I’ve seriously bitten off a decent chunk of my lip out of habit.
I really want to talk with my therapist now, and not two months from now.
I don’t trust anyone they’ll provide me with here.
After 8 PM (and all day on weekends) my bus only comes every 40 minutes. I just got out of an all-day film festival as the bus passed the theater. I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t A.) 1 in the morning, B.) Saturday night in State College, and C.) fucking FREEZING.
Anyway, between movies I started drawing in my drawing notebook and the later at night, the messier my technique was, but at the same time, the better my drawings were.
I’m just mad because I started to draw people I know, which I hate doing. I’m more mad because I drew people I really miss, and they’re pretty good drawings, which just makes me feel worse.