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[whyamiincanada]

Sorrow Love

I love you like a sorrowful god loves their chosen. I pity you for your choices yet I cannot leave you. You will one day be my ruin and my destruction yet... I love you. I LOVE you.

[whyamiincanada]

I can’t and I can.

I can’t run

I can’t skip

I can’t sleep

I can’t play sports

I can’t kneel

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t

And I can

I can stand

I can swim

I can speak

I can write

I can draw

I can read

I can, I can, I can

[whyamiincanada]

You stole it.

My sweet innocence, the girlhood I once knew.

You drained it and now I’m different.

I freeze before speaking my truth

I say things I do not believe, just to keep them happy.

(Something I started but didn’t finish)

[whyamiincanada]

“He stole her youth and, promised heaven.”

When you say words to me, sweet ones. The ones that make your heart tingle. I don’t believe. I’ve given my heart before and is was returned battered. How can I trust you.

“The men start wars, yet Troy hates Helen”

You treat me like I am Helen. Kidnapped by your enemy so you have to fight to get me back. You forget that it was not her fault that Troy was destroyed. That the gods made Paris fall in love, but the gods did not make him kill.

“Women’s hearts are Lethal weapons, did you hold mine and feel threatened.”

My heart is strong. I use it like a weapon but it is still mine to use. I gave it to you and it came back broken. Did you feel threatened by my encompassing love for you. Did you?

[whyamiincanada]

Slut

“Slut” the word is whispered to me like it’s a curse.

“Slut” the word follows me. Haunting behind me like some kind of ghost. Is it written on me. Is it because of what I wear? How I talk?

“Slut” The word is yelled across the street. My mid thigh skirt is flowing in the wind. I’m wearing a baggy top and a pair of tights with it.

“Slut” every time I hear a man call a woman a “slut” I remember the poems I read.

How the wolves eating my carcass will be kinder than men. Besides you can’t trust men with a body.

[whyamiincanada]

Who am I?

I look at myself in the mirror. Eyes fluttering across my body. I look at my curly hair and caramel skin.

Who am I?

To the staff at stores I’m a soon-to-be theif even if I’ve never stolen before.

To the suburban moms I am a bad influence to their young children, as if I’m forcing them to accept my presence. To accept diversity.

To the older white couple I am a mutt, yelled at for having headphones in.

To the white men I am a category that they want to try.

To the white teens I am a subject that they want to avoid unless for a laugh.

To racists I’m someone that shouldn’t have been born. As if I could choose my skin.

Who am I?

My name is Koraleigh, The first part of my first name is an ode to the Goddess of spring, the second to one of my aunts.

I am the kid walking through stores looking for something dumb to buy, trying to ignore the gaze of the distrustful security guard.

I am the kid waving at the suburban children and teaching them how to climb monkey bars, pushing them on swings as their moms gossip.

I am the kid listening to music on the bus, jamming to Rock n roll ignoring the glares of a couple older than the queen.

I am the kid who dresses how I want no matter who says what. Goth, kawaii, prep, it doesn’t matter.

I am someone that is laughed at but I am also someone who doesn’t care. Laugh as much as you want, your insults do not reach me.

I am the kid that gets cursed out by people who see only my skin. My soft caramel skin. If I had a choice.. I would still be this shade.

I am Koraleigh, a regular person. a child that doesn’t deserve the discrimination that I face. Why can’t they see me, and not my race.

[whyamiincanada]

I am beautiful

“I am beautiful” I say as I feel my pudgy thighs. I squeeze my stomach and smile at how it pokes out. It makes me look healthy.

“I am beautiful” I say, trying to sound as obnoxious as possible. My boobs are half out and I’m wearing a short skirt. I see a guy watching me and I know that he thinks I’m easy. If I pretend to be dumb I’ll be ready for him.

“I am beautiful” I say whispering to myself as I stare into my mirror. My mascara is running down my face and my lipstick is smudged. I look at my body in the mirror as I weep as quietly as I can.

“I am beautiful” I think as I get the attention of those around me. They look at me with amazed eyes and I smile at them.

“You are beautiful” They say smiling at me. I smile back, knowing that this is a dream and they will never say this to me.

“I am beautiful”

[whyamiincanada]

Secrets

I have many secrets. Some have been given in whispers during tiring lessons. Others have been slipped to me by people I refuse to name. Their absence leaving a hole in my heart.

Then there are the special ones. The ones I try not to tell. The ones that would ruin me, leave me lonely.

But with you… I want to tell you. I want to see if you will leave when you know the things I’ve done. Will you stay once you know everything.

My heart seems to think so but my brain is more rational. You will be different once you get know. I’ve thought of every outcome and most of them end with me alone again.

Will you stay if you learn who I truly am and not the mask i wear.

[whyamiincanada]

Desperate

I want to be loved. I want someone to push me against the wall and kiss me. I want to laugh about how I hit my head and someone to cradle it, kiss it better.

I want someone to pepper my face with red kisses and destroy me in the most painfully beautiful way. I crave the feeling of someone sleeping next to me and kisses being pressed against the back of my neck.

I want the sleepy morning kisses that make you smile and move closer. I want the rushed kisses when leaving the house, yelling out a “goodbye honey” as I walk away. I want the late night desperate kisses as you see your loved one walk into the party wearing your favourite outfit, pressed against a bathroom wall.

I want the midnight kisses as you drink red wine and laugh about the day. This is something I desperately yearn for. I spend days thinking about being held lovingly. I spend my nights dreaming about someone that finds me when I’m sad and holds me close.

They don’t leave when I tell them my secrets.

[whyamiincanada]

Your hands on me would be a dream.

I can imagine it right now.

You holding me, caressing my thighs, hips, stomach.

You wouldn’t cringe at the stretch marks on my body, nor the scars littering my legs.

Would you kiss me if I told you how much I wanted you?

Would you spend hours on call with me?

Would you hug me knowing who I am?

[whyamiincanada]

You don’t want me. It’s obvious, I can tell. You don’t want me, you want the version I sell.

The unfeeling, unfazed, crazy freak that turns all emotions into lust, not the sad parts. That you wish would disappear like air on dust.

You don’t like when the part I play is used on you, yet if I break you’ll leave and find someone new.

The character I made walking into the school is only part of who I am, the part YOU see as cool.

I know you don’t listen to my rambled rants but notice when I’m quiet looking at ants. Although I’m grateful you’re in my life, I need you to listen to my strife.

I’ve dropped friends for less and I care about you, you’re one of the best. This is a warning please realize, or else I’ll leave you here and let our bonds de-materialize.

[whyamiincanada]

Sometimes I like to be alone. When people get too close and I have to rush away before I explode. No one is safe when I explode.

Sometimes I have to be near someone. Someone that makes me stop thinking. Someone that takes away my worries and doubts. Few people can do that these days.

[whyamiincanada]

Maybe I’m broken

Maybe I’m evil

Maybe I’m the problem

Or maybe, just maybe

I’m just a kid.

[whyamiincanada]

I want to be famous enough that Hozier knows who I am.