flaws

when i was fifteen i was told i wasn’t pretty,
and that my thoughts ran too deeply.
when i was sixteen i realized i wasn’t white,
for someone had pointed it out.
when i was seventeen i was called easy,
but i only wanted to feel pretty.
when i was twenty I was called a prude,
just because i didn’t send nudes.
somewhere along the way i messed up,
and started thinking that being loved
was a synonym for being perfect.
i’m always too much or too little,
too fat or too flat,
too big or too small.
my thighs take up too much space,
my brain is too fast,
my heart beats
one too many times,
and my feet like to wander too long.
i thought i was lost,
and the only way to be found
was to give in to what others wanted.
somewhere along the way i became comfortable
in the knowledge that i was their sometimes,
because i’d rather be something,
than nothing at all.
i wonder how many years it’ll take
until i feel safe
living under this skin
and being truly me.
i don’t fit in that dress,
but do not distress.
i carry the burden of my weight
inside this chest,
i’m sorry, 
i can’t hear your concern-
my crooked smile,
my thunder thighs,
my dark eyes.
i’m not crazy.
i’m worth more
than my number of flaws.
i’m excited because this freak of nature
survived against all odds.
not even your words
will temper this soul.
i wish it hadn’t taken me so long
to learn how to love me, before
letting anyone else drown my voice.