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when i was 11,

i walked into a

daydream of slim

waists and eyes so

captivating, they stayed

in your heart until you

hummed an old song,

in your favorite chair.

i put my hands on my thighs

and realized that i couldn't

hold them, not like the other

girls in my class did. i couldn't

fit my hands around my waist.

i spent years and years,

burying myself in self-loath

and deprecation, until i reached the point

where my heart coughed to

spout out blood to permit me to

live and to breathe.

i have realized,

with the lovely help

of time, that i am soft.

not like the summer wind,

not like rose petals,

not like freshly fallen snow;

just soft, in every meaning

of the word.

i like to believe that instead of

sharp roads paved with bumps

or highways,

i am made of a meadow.

covered in grass that will cool

your skin and ease your fears,

coated in air that will wash your

lungs from the bad and the ugly.

i am a ticket to the cheap play that'll

leave you wondering if you've

just witnessed all the art in the world

in one hour and thirty-six minutes.

i am a song you'll listen to once,

and the singer's voice will be grace

& green tea down your soul, and

you'll smile.

i am not little,

i am not petite,

i am not easy to forget.

i am fluffed pillows,

a warm bed,

the feeling of winning a bet.

i am soft and beautiful.


this poem is the closest to my heart, and the one that has most of my heart in it. i hope you've enjoyed it, because i enjoyed writing it!

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