I would like to meet her again

I am tall for a girl.

I have learned to slow my steps

So I walk behind my friends-

Never in front.

I never wear heels

Because I was once told my height made me intimidating to men.

“Your height is a shame, you’re never going to get a boyfriend.”

So I’m told.

Is that really so important?

“You shouldn’t try that on, you’re a little

B I G, sweetie.”

Why thank you, as if I didn’t know.

My words fly a mile a minute

So I’ve decided to sew my lips shut

And with my crooked tooth

and wide smile,

(have you should looked into braces, hmm?)

Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea.

Will you hold the needle while I grab the thread?

My accent is harsh and foreign

(“Can you say Pahk the Cah in the Hahvahd Yahd?”

“You’re not even from Boston! Why do you say it like that?”

“PLEASE pronounce your ‘R’s’, I have no idea what you’re saying.”)

But I’m from New England?

My head is always in the clouds,

So I’ve tied cinderblocks to keep it down.

“Write me a story,” “make me a poem,”

But don’t you dare dream.

Have you ever watched a glass bowl shatter?

And in a panic tried to piece it back together?

That’s kind of how I feel,

Trying to reshape

And re-piece

The parts of me I was

And parts of me I have become

Because of the criticism thrown my way.

Everyone keeps screaming

CHANGE,

But I don’t even know who I was.

And I think

I sure would like to meet her again.