When everyone likes to comment on how amazing I look,
Or how much weight I've lost,
I like to think about what happened that makes it all that matters,
Were they all mentally abused as children?

I was and still,
I can't see why one blond boy,
Or one pompous brunette, should be all that shapes your self-image,
To the point that all that's left is your physical beauty.

Maybe there is only that,
But it's not in your boney butt,
Or your tree trunk thighs,
It's in the light of your eyes when you laugh,
Or the way your hair twirls back and forth as you dance,
The nervous look on someone's face when they get caught naked.

I've been called a lot of things,
Ugly, fat, dirty, but they were never what hurt,
What hurts is when someone buys into all of you,
The cynical theories and random rants,
The ice blue eyes and the split ends,
And cuts you out.

It hasn't happened in years,
My being really hurt romantically,
As of late it's always been my mother,
With the blue moon exception of a fake friend,
I haven't really given chances, fair or otherwise,
But every minute I hide in my pain I wonder…
'What if I missed it?'

I don't know what it is,
But it's out there,
That bigger piece of the unknown that makes you feel whole.
I've seen it, I've touched it,
But I'm not sure where to find it now,
It's always changing,
And I don't think I'll ever glimpse it again,
It scares me so much.