Rose-Anna Tafaoialii
October 27, 2014
English-Period 6
Poem based off of painting

Beautiful.

I got to write myself beautiful now. I got to treat this girl every once and a while now, and I have no clue where to start. I haven’t spoken words in first person since I `have learned to hide behind the bruises of others, but I figured it out because I have to write myself beautiful now. I know too many ways to use my words to save everyone except myself. This body breaks itself into holes. All that is broken; fuck the healing process. I’ve learned to “leave” my hands into baskets so that the society may stop losing faith in one another. I’ve promised too many people that I am made out of glue. Everyone is starring at me like a magic trick, no wonder all that I am good at is the wanting to disappear. How necessary it is to write myself beautiful now because this whole self-destruction thing has become habit, become drug, and become morning routine. It is what I know like swooped bangs, finger snaps, neck rolls, hip switched, foul mouths, and past of aggression. Bitches like me don’t have time to love themselves proper, love themselves glass half full, love themselves royal, call themselves queen because the last time I tried doing that I fucked up and made the people I love- cry. My mom starring at me, like the second chance she never got for herself. Me, watching her as she tried to figure out what she regrets the most. Me leaving her before she can even consider me optional enough to even regret. So, fuck trying to be the type of female who loves herself first. So I stay second to trash, stay to dirt, slut, cunt, trick, and easy. Everything about a woman is subjective to deer hunting anyways, so might as well it be me holding the gun because even if I wasn’t they would still find a way to tell me; that I was asking for this, that I have no one to blame but myself, but that is why now is the time I can write myself beautiful now. So I can put the fucking gun down, look the girl in the mirror in the eye, and tell her I am so sorry for blaming you for the monster they have made of you, recesses pieces, me on the ground trying to make peace with the walls I put up myself, but realized gravity makes no exceptions to anyone. So to the ground these four walls will fall because I say so, brick by brick, border to border, till all there is left is open sky. With open eyes, both palms up, both legs open, this time because this time I am not looking for salvation. It is the sweat from nobody else’s body but my own. This time I will love myself better, because this time I will love myself first because that is the option left. This time, I will use