I have finally realized why I have never felt pretty.

It is because, because...

I have dated several people who have called me beautiful.

But I could never understand why they would say that.

I assumed it was a formality.

For years, and years, some people have been attracted to me.

And I didn't know why.

Now that I am finally living in my correct sexuality.

With a fiance soon to be wife.

I am starting to understand.

She calls me beautiful, and pretty.

And doesn't under stand why I don't agree.

And it's because I never see anyone who looks like me.

So mixed, mixed salad.

Darkish skin, asian eyes, trini lips trini hips, white something? I don't know.

I look like nothing anyone has ever known.

My hair is both Trini, white, asian, and whatever else is peppered into who I am.

I am an almost complete puzzle of races.

I think only I can fully grasp that.

Being in my late twenties is not as **** as I thought it would be.

Now I find myself waiting for my thirties.

When I'll be

thirty, flirty, and thriving.

I would at least like to hold on to the last part.

Thriving is what I want to be.

I feel like being in your late twenties is second teenage hood.

You develop new skin problems and need meds, you are also a reckless mess.

But hey at least now you live alone,
at least now you
are grown.

In a sense.

I'll try to enjoy my late twenties.

As my sisters surpass my talents.

Maybe thirty will be my year.

Or 40.

I feel kind of awful and I don't know why.

It's like something isn't sitting right.

My stomach churns but I'm not hungry.

My lungs burn but I'm not burning.

I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel young, I feel old.

Maybe I am just feeling too much.

Maybe I just need a touch.

Maybe I just need a glass of wine.

Then maybe I can tell myself that I am fine.

I don't know.

I don't know.

It's bad either way so I don't know.

I got a mood ring on my finger.

It's telling me that I am cold,
winter.

I decompress, recompose.

Like the green bin I find a new purpose.

Anything to feel like I'm not worthless.

To feel okay.

The though of you tastes like ***** in my throat.

I have been dreaming a lot lately.

I see you, innocent and simple, before you realized what you compromised.

I wonder if I will ever be free.

Free from my memories.

When I think of them I get sick.

That's why I taste *****.

***** at the back of my throat.

I choke.

I remember.

Deception is a beautiful thing.

A power, a grace.

Triggering.  

When I think of those moments, of those months of those years,

Well,

Tears have done me nothing.

Dreams,

They keep coming.  

I know I am a young, I know I am old.

But truth be told,

sometimes I still feel like nothing.

Sometimes I feel like I peaked in my teens.

And then I remember the tears, I remember those knees.

I remember every scar, and every mistake.

And I hate...

And then I forget.

Memory is a silly trait,

Dreams are such a strange state.

All I want is to go on.

Move on.

Why is it so hard for the flower to bloom.

Why does she have to beg for room.

She has already spread her roots, and is fertile with happiness.

How do the weeds not see that?

The weeds, they come. And they disguise themselves.

The appear to be a fellow flower, they are polite, they are safe.

But then when the flowers guard has gone down,

the fellow flower strikes.

Not a **** but a poison.

Leaving the flower trapped.

Shedding a few layers,

to just be left alone.

And then Autumn comes and the flower droops with sorrow.

It feels like nothing,

nothing.

Incredible.

I don't know.

The demon is gone, but I still have to medicate.

The girl is forgotten,

but sometimes I still remember.

But it's okay.

It's like sweet honey on a summer day,

It's like warm hot chocolate on a winter night.

It is spelling everything right.

Do not worry, do not frown.

Because the dead are always around.

Just don't make a sound.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Breathe.

And listen.