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.