Cherrypicked chapters of Leviticus read by

Pastors wearing polyblend

Just before working on a Sunday

Make me sick.

Red faced Bible bangers

Proudly proclaim from the pulpit that

you'll inherit the kingdom of God...

Unless you have premarital sex,

Unless you love another woman,

Unless

Unless

Unless.

Meanwhile, the same

Polyblend wearing pastor is

Molesting the mousy church girl

Behind closed doors.

The Bible bangers protect his pride.

"We should pray for him,"

They say, refusing to turn him in.

But oh, if that girl gets pregnant

What is she?

Whore.

Sinner.

Liar.

No matter that she's twelve.

No abortions for you!

(We'll just help him molest your baby later.)

"Keep God in school!"

Where is he when those kids get

Killed?

Was he perhaps

Watching Netflix?

Taking a nap?

But let me guess,

Jesus wanted us to carry guns, right?

(Thou shalt not murder, anyone?)

Fuck hypocrisy.

Fuck being civil to

Relatives who only keep me around

Because one day,

I'll surely be converted!

They hope that one day, I won't be "disgusting"

In the eyes of my uncle,

A man I trusted until

He spat it at me because my grandpa is "queer,"

as they say.

So am I.

(Birds of a feather, I guess.)

Men in the spotlight

molest in the shadows.

Women shouting outside abortion clinics

wish their kids were dead for being gay.

Hypocrites are

Heinous.

Hellish.

Hateful.

I rebuke them in the name of

Sanity.

"You probably smell like bacon grease!"

"Ugh, look at this whale."

"If you would just stop eating so much, you'd be fine!"

"You ever get off the couch and run, fat ass?"

This is just a tiny sampling of what I hear every time I speak up about an issue I find important. Men who have obviously never looked in a mirror sneer and scream at me. Women who drink that "detox tea" that gives you diarrhea and eat kale three times a day dare whisper it behind my back as if their entire identity isn't based around their Instagram influencer title.

It doesn't matter that I'm trying. It doesn't matter that I go to the gym three times a week, count calories, stay away from red meat, and eat plenty of fruits and veggies. They don't care that I have a family history of hormone imbalance and weight gain. I'm a fat girl, and that's enough reason to dehumanize and hurt me.

Fat = lazy, selfish, greedy, stupid.

Or so you would think. I have seen size 00 girls wolf down thousands of calories per day. I've heard them bragging about snorting lines and popping "Special K" like it's nothing, but it's all cool as long as they have flat stomachs, right?

Fat girls starve, cry, and commit suicide because to you, they aren't worth the skin they're in. They aren't worth the space they inhabit. Who cares if your heart explodes from a lethal dose of cocaine? If you're thin, you're in!

Tell me, if my size 16 is too much for you, when will I be good enough? When will I be worthy of oxygen?

It’s late, but these tears won’t stop. I’ve finally gained an understanding of what regret truly feels like. I want to blame you even though the truth is reflected in this mirror.

Did you know that I’ve slept with your pillow since you left? It smells like you and if I close my eyes and focus, my mind will play out memories of laughter with you next to me. I can’t wash these sheets, I still fill my lungs with the scent of you while my dreams place you back in my arms.

Did you know that I kept your shampoo? Steam awakens memories of you, carried to me through the scent of jasmine and vanilla. My body trembles as thoughts of wet kisses and soap slicked skin wash over me. The tile cools my warm fingertips as I steady myself through the rush of it all.

Did you know I still text you every morning on my way to work? Old habits are hard to break, and my heart is stuck on repeat. I couldn’t tell you what my fingers are reaching for, though I long to feel your skin brush against mine. Sometimes I sit in my car, cigarette burning as thoughts of you tug at my emotions.

Did you know I kissed someone last night? Her kiss was sweet and soft, like yours. She made me smile. I have to admit that I was looking for you in her eyes. I’m always looking for you. My eyes desperate for brightness in a world filled with dichotomy. I miss the color you brought into my life.

If you only knew.

Legs, man.

The damn legs.

Eight of them;

Eight eyes, too.

Like??

Who needs all that?

And the webs!!!!

THe FuCkInG WeBs.

I can't.

Nope.

I see an eight-legged little shit

In my house and I'm done.

It's gone.

End Of.

NOT TODAY MINI SATAN.

NOT TODAY.

I'm not saying put yourself in a position where you'd face harm if you were to come out. I can't offer specific tips, because every situation is different. Had I come out when I realized my attraction to other women, I'd have had to find a new place to live. Growing up, I was bullied harshly because of rumors about me.

However, I will say that no matter your circumstance, whether it's safe to come out or not, there's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. It's only you; nothing to be afraid of. You're beautiful as you are.

I have two pieces inside of me.

I have a vessel so empty that I can’t bear to eat.

Bones terrified of anything but skin clutching their framework.

A vacant map of carefully crafted dysmorphia that I can’t imagine feeding anything but self-taught lies.

I have a bursting body filled up until all I can do is feast.

Insides begging for all that they can eat.

A rib cage fighting to contain the craving to binge and explode.

I have two pieces, and neither is healthy or sure of itself.

I have two pieces I struggle to control, but neither make up a whole.

Hate came storming in the door

squalling, yelling, howling

ready to drill into damaged heart.

Hate had watched Love through cracks

distorting exposed image in his mind,

contaminating her senses, stole her soul

squalling, yelling, howling

Foggy essence of imperfect Hate

damned to Hell where lonely lies,

larger and larger, the cyclone grows,

dehydrated thoughts, waning passion

squalling, yelling, howling

Love is the conqueror and purifies pith

seizes Hate’s emotions whirling in space.

Love flows like lava into crevices of Hate,

warming the cold and sadness therein,

melts the ice from Hate’s furrowed brow

soothing, softening, calming

Meeting in middle, Love and Hate become

(What do Love and Hate become?)

I put on makeup

Every single day

It is a certain fact

I feel embarrassed to say

I wake up in the morning

At least thirty minutes early

To slather my face in broken jewels

Just to feel a bit girly

And sometimes

When I look at my face

I feel like I'm

From outer space

Because my skin

Is covered in beautiful sadness

Piling up like mountains

Leaving a sense of madness

And the world feels like

It's pointing and laughing

At my clown aesthetic

That keeps people chatting

A room full of people

Sharing 'I'm trying too hard'

Back-stabbing friends that say

I belong in a graveyard

Yet, when I show off my

Bare, freckled, pasty skin

I don't feel as good inside

And they poke 'fun' at me again

"You need to put more makeup on"

"Blend your eyeshadow"

"You could look better than you do now"

And I try to let it go.

And I try to remember to

'Block out the haters' or whatever

But I feel so trapped with

My face forever

But I don't wanna go

Under the knife

Yet I'll feel this utter torment

For the rest of my life

So why must I pressure myself

And why must the world pressure us

When females are powerful

And that's something to discuss

And I know

This is something I have to embrace

And I know, at the end of the day

This is my God-given face

And I know every woman is free to make

Her own choice about what her face

Should look like on

Any given day

And my choice? ...

I wear makeup

Every single day

It is something that I chose

And it is something that will stay.

My image will only change if I want it to.

And that should be okay.

No matter what you say

No matter what you say.

I'm scared.

He kickes and tumbles.

My belly grows each week.

Oh shit. Run to the bathroom.

Feel the pizza crust and stomach acid rise and bubble in my throat.

It's not the morning, but yet that's what this is, morning sickness.

The cool gel below my belly button. And a small machine that beeps in 4D. Showing the images of him growing and moving. Healthy. They say.

Fuck. It's the middle of traffic, and my bladder is going to explode. Pull over real quick. I can't unbutton and unzip fast enough. Ahhh finally the release of fluid from my body.

It's not like I can see my toes anywa- I WANT ICE CREAM AND CHEESE ITS. AND PICKLES WHIP CREAM AND HOT SAUCE!

I'm scared. What if I fail? What if I drop him? On his head? I don't want to be like my parents. But I don't know what else to go off of.

Everyone who isn't me says "oh baby!" like he's cute and lovable. Aww. But you dont know the fear. You aren't me. You're not the one growing him inside your womb. This is my baby. And I am scared.