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
Rachel Wiley (via howweknewit)
….it is a lovely notion anyway,…
I wish for once that someone who actually knows me genuinely thought me beautiful and said so. Actually used the word “beautiful”.
And that I served more purpose than being a steady, quiet, pillar that holds shit together and isn’t anything other than what I am.
I wish I wasn’t me sometimes.
You might be sitting with him at the kitchen table drinking coffee from mismatched mugs and saying nothing because sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to say. He’s miles away, and you’re thinking you should take a shower or fix your hair or at least brush your teeth because you feel dirty and self-conscious. You wish the sun weren’t so bright on your face and you wish there was something other than corn flakes for breakfast so your stomach won’t start making hideous noises. You’re about to open your mouth and say something to break the silence, but he speaks first. He tilts his head slightly and says:
“You make me really happy.”
And you will agree he does, too.
It isn’t about sex…nor how long you have been together….but it is more about having that connection, one strong enough to be able to see the light inside your partner……to me that is LOve……
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