not all plants are pretty, no matter what the poets say.
the rotting flesh stench of the corpse flower; you wouldn’t think a flower could do this, would ya?
they’re not all good – cacti stab, roses prick, lupus butterflies with gothel hair yell at you.
“you’re too fat to ever be an ingenue”
“well can i go to a dietician?”
“no they won’t be able to help you in your case, and besides, you’re a picky eater”
“if you don’t stop eating chocolates every day, you’ll never be an athlete”
“you’re too fat to be part of this team, look at Nephele, that’s what you need to look like”
and the gardenia was kind, funny, and she had the body i always wished i could have – aka, not mine.
i try so hard to be kind. every single day, when it’s hard, when it’s effortless, everyday. i try so hard. but then you hear people you love call you “mean”. “horrible”. “nasty’. i try every day and i don’t understand i am judged so much for my failures at it. and yet everyone else isn’t – when she makes a snide comment, everyone laughs at you, and when he is quiet, it’s seen as brooding and mysterious, and when you are quiet, they think you’re a monster.
i can’t bear that pressure sometimes. i really can’t. do they want me to fail? do they ask me to fail? do they beg me to fail? i can’t bear the pressure, it’s everything and everywhere. turn on the radiator, don’t let me freeze, teach me everything i do not need to know. those hushed whispers about me, about my health, worrying about my reactions, that pressure is unberable.
i am not a bad person!!!!!!!! can i shout it from rooftops? i try my best! i don’t want disgusting people like E to call me hostile or J calling me annoying. you know that hurts. and yet they are cold, unfeeling, competitive and do not understand what their words can do to someone.
yes, you’ll say, you need thicker skin.
but then they’ll say you’re too fat.