Poems about turned

I have breasts, although I wish I could wrap them up. Make my size D a size A then I could wear all the trendy stuff. Then it wouldn't be too tight it wouldn't cling it would just hang. My shadow would be a rectangle and I could wear whatever I wanted without shame. Is it too low cut, is the graphic awkwardly placed am I drawing the wrong attention to myself if I don't cover every inch from my chest to my face? They say I'm too modest but they don't know what I've endured. 90% of my closet is t-shirts because I am tired of my body defining my worth.

You'll look at my ass, you'll look at my thighs, you'll look at my chest and stomach but never my eyes. You'll never know where the first sentence of my story lies because my figure is the only thing you idolize. And it doesn't bother me at all what I look like, but it boils my blood to no end that because I'm not showing off for you you think I'm a dyke?

When I was 15 I wore basketball shorts and tshirts to school almost everyday, I dressed for comfort not to impress, this was high school not the Paris couture runway. Maybe it was because I didn't wear makeup or have my hair down or let my hips sway that they questioned my sexuality, I wasn't conforming to society's way.

I wore a dress on picture day and everyone was in shock, boys called me pretty for the first time but I didn't give a fuck. I wore what I did for me, not so that they would be pleased. I was sickened that this change of scenery actually left them weak in the knees. When before they never even noticed me and they wouldn't ever again. Even when I was 18 and I had my first boyfriend, he said "are you sure you aren't a lesbian? " Because I wouldn't touch his dick and I didn't want to so that was the end.

Then I began to explore the notion that maybe I was all they said. I'd never thought about girls like that before but I had no sexual desire for men. I told this to you and you said you were experimenting too so you kissed me without my consent. You said it was just for fun but was it fun when the messages started to come, saying I was gay when I didn't even love you that way. In fact I hated you, I was used and abused and torn in two.

To this day people still ask me what I am I tell them I'm straight I just don't want sex. To which they reply the right dick will change your mind or maybe you're a lesbian because my desire for sex is how my gender is defined? I just want to be noticed like everybody else, to be loved by a boy not his cock or his wealth. And these stereotypes that everyone puts me in to is because sex sells so to the carnivorous media I say fuck you.

Blacker than the kohl of her eyeliner is the state of her soul
She lives in that darkness perennially but it's getting old
She's tired of carrying the weight of her world but not done fighting
Trying with the strength of five thousand mother fuckers
Trying, fighting, carrying what was given to her by DNfuckingA
She pleads for succor,
But always;
ВЂњThere's a void that the boys can't fill, the tipping of the bottle or the popping of the pill”
And she's feeling the urge to regurgitate the bile created by swallowing one too many tears over a few too many years
Some nights when she lets the salt roll, functioning gets too hard to breathe...
She knows that “loving somebody won't make them love you” but she loves away
Works towards the proverbial brighter day, struggles for the right words to say:
ВЂњI'd let you be my everything”
She knows she should be her own One and Only
If only the mirror didn't leave her so lonely
But she's a plain girl who knows too much cowardice and not enough self-respect
If you saw her you might detect some self-neglect
Or not
But you can bet she'll lift others like gods
She'll believe in the few and far between against significant odds,
Pray for strength, guidance and grace,
Keep trying, fighting, carrying hope for something to fill that empty space
And above all (if you let her)
She'll love you better than you've ever known
But first her little figure will have to spurn itself until it learns what she truly needs
Videlicet, to love the garden of herself beyond its copious weeds

I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding
I'm feeling, I'm feeling
I'm tossing, I'm turning
My stomach is churning
My face won't present it
I'm sitting, I'm writing
I'm feeling, I'm knowing
My eyeballs are dry and
I'm blinking and breathing
My mouth tastes like chalk
And my hair is all falling
In front of my face
My eyes aren't working
I'm floating, I'm jumping
I'm spitting, I'm running
I haven't left my seat
But I haven't lied yet
My scalp is crying
My ears are ringing
But no one will know it
If my face won't present it
And through the slit in the window
The world is presented
On a concrete platter
Partially hidden, as worlds often are
But the truth is still out there
Waiting to check
To see if you're still looking
To see if your seeking
As hide and seek goes
I'm losing, I'm losing
The truth always knows
The truth always goes
Away- but comes back
For round two, and three and four
So long as the pen never leaves the paper
I'm fucking, I'm screwing
I'm using crude words
To break out of a shell
A mold- Imposed
All the world knows it
They come out at night
When no one is looking
And judging and staring
Or so they think and
Hope and pray
But the truth (that we've found)
Is simple and clear
We are crude
And I count
The number of men,
And women,
I've fucked
Tick them off
Little checks in a list
To-do list indeed
To-done
To-day
It makes me laugh
And I pretend not to care
Slut! Whore! Frank. Honest.
Synonymous?
For me
They are
I am
Dispossessed.
Do I belong?
Can I belong?
Will I ever belong?
I pretend not to care
But I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding
I'm feeling, I'm trying
I'm crying
I'm dying.

How to turn the tables?
To respond to all those fables,
If we could make men love us,
Like we love them, less fuss,
But that's the way they are, no less,
Not much sapience for men, I guess...

I see you in my future
I see cupid shooting laser beams
I know the feeling isnt mutual
But
Ill see you later in my dreams
In my dreams

I see you when i daydream
When i'm sitting at my desk at school
You taste me on your cigarette that you smoke
'cause you think you're cool
You think you're cool

The only time
I had the world
In my hands
Was when i held yours

My favorite
Time of day
Lasts
About 6 minutes
Where the moon's in
Its
Ascent
And the sun is
Just a strip
Of orange
Across the rocky
Blues
4 minutes
And trees be-
Come just
Silhouettes
And cars
Switch on
Their lights.
It's the
Final hazy glow
Before the valley's
Turned to night.

On the downward slope
Turned for home
The mystery that beckons
And horrifies
All at the same time

When i turned 16
My mother insisted on celebrating
So my closest friends and i gathered
To eat dinner and have cake
And when the candles were light
And the room turned dark

They all clapped and sang
When i blew the candles out
And wished
I
Was
Dead.