Once upon a midnight dreary
I waited

I was that girl
who waited,
sat biting
her nails
chugging the
oak poison,
her drink
of choice.

I waited there
for days on end
until those days
grew to weeks
then months
and when the
years began
to slowly fade
away, I picked
up my withered
frame, broken
inside but
a strong drive
to fight back.

Something in
my heart went
cold that night,
and I realized
I am beautiful,
even without you,
and I won’t be
waiting here
when you return.

The Professional Daydreamer

I found myself daydreaming
almost as if I’ve made a profession
out of allowing my mind
to wonder, ponder, escape.
I thought of him, of her,
of the world, the sky, but mainly
I thought about you.
I wondered how your lips tasted
how the love pouring from your
almond colored eyes would feel
drenched over my fragile
painted frame on this humble bed.
It was almost as if I created you
in my mind, my dreams to
reciprocate these feelings, sometimes
I sit and think how wonderful it
would be to know you were dreaming
of me, somewhere in your far off city.
But then I remove my mind from the
clouds and remind myself that sadly,
you don’t even know my name.

Starving for Beauty

I see these women with
bones piercing their skin
the outline of their ribs,
the coils of ivory protruding
through the back of
a dress. The collar,
cheeks, and hips
all lacking flesh and
color, the pink tones
intended for a woman.


And this is what I’m
told is “beautiful?
I flip the pages of my
magazines, turn
channels on television
to see these women
withering away all
in the name of beauty.
So what does that
make me? Ugly?


Not at all.
I love my frame,
fragile with curves in
all the right places.
I embrace my body,
I eat when I want to
and I enjoy being unique.
Women weren’t meant
to starve and disappear.


Being happy, being yourself,
being different, now
that is beautiful.