3 Digits On The Scale Are A Sin To My Society

If you happen to fit size-negative jeans
steer clear of me.
The amount of pizza I can inhale will sicken you
Don't watch me
sink my teeth into crispy
then pillowy dough, cheese and grease
oozing out,
painting my lips an oily, orangey hue.
Indulgence is a hobby.
Nina Ho,
like gritty, strong coffee.
Unfiltered.
Whenever the camera's not lurking,
you'll hear me laugh.
Not giggling
in a ladylike manner
No.
Braying is more of the word.
I'll shriek at your jokes and THEN
you'll truly see me smile
crinkly-eyed
lids like crescent moons
you can't see my pupils
but just take joy in the tears rolling down my cheeks
(I used to
cover my mouth
when I smile
to hide a crooked tooth
like how most people hide
a crooked soul.)
I will admit:
I'm not 90 pounds
I don't have a 24-inch waist
or always perfect hair
my voice sometimes squeaks when I
TRY
to emulate Queen Bee
or Alicia Keys ("THIS-- GIRL IS ON FIAH--ack").
If I want to punch you in the face, I will--
tell you, and if I want to jump your bones
I will.
Tell you (hey, I'm only fourteen).
I speak what's on my mind,
and I don't mind when I speak.
Nina Ho.
Unfiltered.
I am
dark chocolate
broccoli
coffee--
A lot of people love me
A lot of people don't
But I
am am acquired taste, friend.
I can be
Bitter
Sharp
Intoxicating
Bold
Dry
Sweet
Tart
fill
in
the
blank.
But most of all,
Distinctive.
Try me.
I guarantee you won't regret
Me.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741