tofu

i miss him.

i know i sound so dramatic– all hes doing at the moment is sleeping but nonetheless, i miss him.

i wish i could explain what that means its not just wishing to talk not me just filling the neverending silence with his voice i miss in a way that makes no sense in a way that makes every part of me reach for him as if hes been mine forever

ive never been held in his arms after a long day, never buried my face into his chest after my nightmares ive never even kissed him letting my whole heart spill out onto his lips

and yet– i miss him as if hes the part of me that ive been looking for my whole life the part thats always left me feeling empty

it sounds so cheesy before him, i wouldve rolled my eyes at words like this

now, all i can whisper is:

i miss him.

even when hes on the other end of the phone, i miss the weight of a body ive never touched the warmth of hands ive never held the taste of lips ive never known

“im so pretty, i know”

ill say it with confidence every chance i get, like a line ive rehearsed for years as i suck in my stomach for every picture my morning beginning with brushes and powders that ive perfected to hide my face damaging my hair with a curler for a few moments of beauty by the time i leave my room, my reflection has seen more of the real me than anyone else will that day

people say im a narcissist theyll laugh at the way i linger in front of mirrors how i instinctively go to lift my shirt just to measure my worth for a moment in front of the glass how i post as if im in love with myself but love has never been in my mind during these actions

ill pretend its obsession and it is

im obsessed with everything wrong with me i want nothing more than to mold myself like clay, reshaping every piece of me until nothing is left to look at

when someone asks for my best feature, i pause i could write a list of flaws every morning but i could never find an answer to that question that i believe

i know more about what i hate than what i could ever call beautiful

maybe my nose that overtakes my face my lips that are too small to ever matter i couldnt pinpoint the moment this started but now every mirror i see feels like a test i wasnt prepared for something that i can never pass

but ill never admit to it in front of everyone so ill laugh, ill agree– yes, im obsessed ill take a million pictures yet post none i hide behind my words, like i always have

i always loved the night sky

its ironic because i hate the dark but something about the way the stars dotted the sky the moon shining brightly– it held a comfort over me that i could never understand

its far too soon to say certain words to you youd think im crazy maybe i am just a bit so instead ill tell you that ill always remember you even if the stars dont

but i know they will because i go outside every night to pray and talk to them and trust me they know all about you because the same stars i speak to are the ones looking down upon you

they know the pain youve shared with me they know the way you talk like you rule the world they know that you make me feel homesick for arms ive never been in

i know for right now those words would only slip out if im drunk and missing you calling you late at night spilling my heart out and all of its contents without a second thought and youd call me crazy and roll your eyes

so instead ill tell you that ill always remember you even if the stars dont

we both worry that life is meaningless and deep down we both know it is we know that our words and actions are inherently pointless no matter how much we want them to be worth more

so with that in my mind i dont want to run from you anymore i dont want to shut you out the way my mind tells me to

i know i like you more

 i feel it in the quiet. in the way i lose sleep when something feels off, and you — you sleep just fine.

i hate when men pretend they could ever love me more than i love them.

they never do. they just say it louder.

because when you seem distant, i stay still — wondering if i said too much, if i gave too freely, if i’m already being forgotten.

as the minutes pass

but when i pull away, you don’t chase. you don’t ask what’s wrong. you don’t worry i might leave.

and that’s how i know.

i like you more. maybe i always did.

the cycle starts at 12 my phone screen begins to shine on my face like an accusation the numbers climbing up the ladder reminding me that the world is moving even if im not

1 my eyes are screaming to close but the moment they do my brains claws them open my thoughts scratching the inside of my skull

by 2 ive turned off every light as i try to let the music engulf me in warmth like my blanket but by now my eyelids feel like theyre lined with shards of glass every blink cutting deeper

3, 4, 5, 6 as time moves on the hours blend together bleeding into one big pool that i cannot handle my phone screen now glaring back at my face like its teasing me each new number, another taunt

at some point the sun starts leaking through my blinds and as 8:30 hits the clock, my alarm cuts through the silence waking me up from a night i never slept through

as i drag myself to the vanity i am met with eyes that do not belong to me a stranger that has eyes sinking into her own face eyes that look like they belong to someone who has been buried for months

i am a dreamer with no time to dream cursed to watch the clock tick from 12 to 3 to 6 until it becomes just a blur of numbers in my eyes

and still, every night, as the numbers begin their cycle yet again—

the way words roll off his tongue sound like heaven but the thoughts i keep in my head are anything but holy

he speaks with confidence and knowledge which i thought i did too— but when he says my name, i forget who i am i forget how to act

our late night talks turn into my daydreams— his arms around my waist, spinning me in a little kitchen we call our own, the dim yellow lighting engulfing us the way his words swirl around my body

and when i lay alone at night, its him that lives between my thighs in my mind

but its not just the lust alone that i crave i dont just yearn for him inside of me for the heat of it— i want to feel him in the way two people become as close as they can be the way our bodies could mirror what our hearts have promised to each other to feel his touch on me that shows hes there

i want to run my fingers through every curl, over every muscle; to slips my fingers into the folds of his mind to be intertwined with the veins of his heart i want to understand him in a way no one has in a way no one can

humans arent inherently bad

im not sure if i believe this or if its something that i tell myself to soothe the weight of my mistakes

“humans dont want to be evil” i mutter under my breath when he made me cry that night — and i know it happened so long ago but his words that night stuck to me like it was sewn into my skin making sure i would never forget his sharpness

i dont think humans are born terrible people but when a woman's son has his hand up my skirt after a repeated “no, please stop” it causes me to rethink my beliefs cracking them down inch by inch

i am someones daughter i am someones sister but above all that — am i not still human too

humans arent inherently bad but if thats the case does that not make me equal to the men who have assaulted and killed me does that not make me worse than the person i think i am

if thats the case will i ever get better

i knew it was getting bad again

when i couldn’t eat anything

without looking at the calories —

calculating every little thing

i hardly ate all day,

yet

all i do is try to throw it all up

in the end.

i knew it was getting bad again

when my own sisters noticed.

when they started pushing me

to eat more than i planned,

offering me bites of their food

until it was shoved in my face.

i knew it was getting bad again

when my dad kept asking,

“are you sure…?”

after i told him i wasn’t hungry

for the tenth time that day.

when i’d make food for the family

just to have three bites

before saying i was full.

i knew it was getting bad again

when it was already terrible.

i always think i’m better

before i actually am.

i always feel like i look the same —

until i see myself.

i stopped recognizing me.

not just in mirrors,

but in how quiet i’d become

when people spoke

like i was still here.

my eyes look hollow,

and the comments —

“did you lose weight?” —

stick into my head like glue.

i spiral

as i notice clothes

fitting looser

than they did before.

“it’s fine,”

i tell myself daily.

“i had a burger today —

no one with an eating disorder

would have a burger like that.”

the lies to myself cutting me deeper 

than a blade ever could

i knew it was getting bad again

when it was already

too late.

i knew it was getting bad again —

i always do.

i just don’t always

stop it.

i knew i was drowning,

but i can’t find the strength

to care.

boys used to like me

i ran fast on the playground and i didn’t mind ruining my jeans to play ball

boys used to like me because i never tattled when they broke the rules and instead gave them a little smile when i covered for them

boys used to like me because i developed before all the other girls in my class 

boys like me

i wear low cut shirts and tiny little skirts when having fun with my friends 

boys like me because i do my hair and makeup, for them in their minds 

boys like me because i play the wife when im not even the girlfriend 

boys don’t like me 

i want too much and i don’t give enough to get it

boys don’t like me because i tell them i don’t wanna be touched by a man that doesn’t love me, better yet doesn’t like me

boys don’t like me because i want a relationship and not a one night stand 

pretty is my favorite word

it wasn’t always of course.

i never really cared much for “pretty”

pretty wasnt a compliment

pretty was a fallback

a placeholder for something beautiful 

pretty was what you would call a doll on a shelf—

silent,

delicate,

forgettable.

the first time pretty meant something to me 

came out of nowhere—

a late-night text i rolled my eyes at:

“hey pretty”

i was angry

i was distant

i just got done accusing him of things i wasnt even sure were true

yet he wrote:

“hey pretty”

only that

he couldve snapped back at me

he had every right to come back with anger

but it was none of that

no defense

just…softness

it made me mad

it made me cry

i didnt WANT to be pretty, i didnt think i was

but he called me it like it was obvious 

no matter how hard i pushed him away,

i was called “pretty” every day

it broke something in me

the wall id been holding up for years

just a little each time

until i found myself smiling at his texts

the same ones i rolled my eyes to

i love the word pretty.

it doesnt just mean beautiful

it means “seen”

because when he calls me it, 

i dont feel simple or small

forgettable.

its not just a word anymore

its his voice

its warmth

its a hand on my back in a crowded room

its a kiss on my forehead when im struggling

a reminder that i still deserve softness

pretty is my favorite word