Lipstick on a Pig

You can put lipstick on a pig,

but guess what?

It’s still a pig.

So maybe if people continue

to call something

other than what it is

in your eyes,

even though you’ve tried

to cleverly disguise it as

something else entirely,

then maybe,

just maybe,

it’s time to admit you have a pig.

 

 

Author’s note: Please don’t actually refer to a girl as a pig. This is just a metaphor. She will not appreciate it.

 

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The Last Time

I can’t recall the last time someone looked at me

and told me what they like about me.

I can’t remember the last time someone gave me

an ounce of hope that maybe I am pretty.

I can’t distinguish in my mind the last time someone

made me feel good about myself…

but I can sure as hell give you a list

of all the times someone told me the opposite

But I Can’t, But I Won’t, But I Want to.

There are so many things I want to say,

but I can’t,

but I won’t,

but I want to.

 

I have questions I need to ask

but I can’t,

but I won’t,

but I want to.

 

I need to get my answers

but I can’t,

but I won’t,

but I want to.

 

I want to stop holding back,

but I can’t,

but I won’t,

but I want to.

 

I wish I could stop biting my tongue,

but I can’t,

but I won’t,

but I want to.

 

I want to end each call with I love you,

but I can’t,

but I won’t

but I want to.

 

I want to tell you how I feel,

but I can’t,

but I won’t

but I want to.

 

I want you to admit how you feel

but you can’t,

but you won’t,

but I want you to.

This Hope

I once had this hope

that maybe my poems

would speak all the words

that I knew I could not;

That the right choice of words

and the right amount of something

that I did not have would be enough

when I knew that I was not;

That maybe the emotions

that I’m constantly holding back

would be felt in my writing

that I knew I could not share.

but I know they are not.

I still have this hope

that maybe someday they will

if  I would only share those poems

with the rest of the world

and not keep them to myself…

yet I know I will not.

 

 

Sometimes…

Sometimes I wish the words for my poems

could flow as smoothly and as enchanting

as the ones in an Ed Sheeran love song.

Sometimes they do.

Sometimes I get caught in the moment

and find myself swept away in the magic

of the feelings I have and the words I type.

Sometimes I read what I write and think

“This is simply perfect.

I’ve captured a small glimpse perhaps

of what I originally intended,

but yet it’s exactly what I meant.”

Sometimes I take a step back and wonder

if the words are truly my own

because I don’t believe that my

lonely, loveless heart could have

produced words full of such awe.

Sometimes I get excited to share these

words crafted by my soul with the world,

but I always remember I can’t.

So while I may wish to enchant the world

with my own lyrics like Ed,

I’ll have to settle with saving

my soul to my file of drafts

full of other hopes waiting for their time

to shine like the light of a thousand stars…

 

 

Dangerous to Dream

It is dangerous to dream

bigger than the moment

you are already living.

It may be easy to dream

of long white curtains

billowing in a warm breeze

or a four-poster bed with

soft pink petals scattered

across bright, white sheets

that are as fresh and as pure as you;

maybe later you’ll be tangled in them

as you watch the sunset

over the ocean out your window

with the love of your life

shortly after you dedicated

your lives to be spent with each other.

Seems simple enough of a dream,

But that can be ripped from you

long before you ever get close

to touching that dream.

So dream simply of small things

like your first margarita

because the odds of someone

shoving that down your throat

against your will

is a lot less likely than other things…

take it from me.

The Left Behind

It’s much easier to do the leaving

than to be the left behind.

While you are all off to do

all new things

in all new places

with all new people,

I’m left with the same life

I’ve lived for many years before

except it’s different now

because you’re not here

to experience it with me.

Not a lot of exciting things happen to me

that you haven’t heard of lived before

but I get to hear all your exciting

stories from around the country

and realize how stuck I really am.

I’m glad my friends get to go on

such exciting adventures, I am.

But sometimes they don’t realize

that in the wake of their new experiences

I am left behind with no one

to do something as simple as

get a coffee with

because my closest best friend

is at now four hours away

and that makes life very lonely.

 

Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

Dreams. Dreams? Dreams.

They make us who we are.

They are what makes us into

unique individuals.

While others may have

similiar goals and hopes,

its the fine details

like a porch swing

or a two syllable name

that make dreams…different;

that make us…different.

The thing about dreams

is that dreams change.

They come and go.

They adapt to other dreams

from other people

whose dreams become yours.

But what do you do

when all your dreams

have long ago faded

and the little details

become forgotten memories?

How do you know that your dream

is actually your dream

and not just what someone else wants?

Girls Like You

It must be nice to be you.

Girls like you that look like that-

tiny, thin, attractive.

What society wants girls to look like.

It must be nice to be able

to talk about your weight

and weight loss with ease

in public settings like the pool.

But it’s not for me.

I know everyone has their struggles,

and a different mountain to climb,

but when you sit 5 feet from me

and complain about going from

104 pounds to 110,

and calling yourself fat,

it kills me inside.

You are so thin.

You re so confident.

You are so beautiful.

I would give almost anything

to deal with your dilemma.

Because as you stated,

girls our height are supposed to weigh

one hundred forty pounds max.

You may be far beneath that,

but I am far above that

and hearing you flaunt this fact

while I am in earshot

right after I just worked my ass off

discourages me.

I wish I could flaunt confidence

the way you can flaunt your stomach,

but I can’t. I’m insecure.

And my progress is slow

and a long journey awaits me.

But please, just please

let me feel comfortable

and supported

and empowered to take it.

Don’t slow me down.

I have an extra 100 pounds

to do that for me.