Boulevard of Broken Words

Being Less By: Megan I really thought that if I was less, you would want me more. So I conformed to be something I was not. I found myself obsessed with numbers and slept to forget the pain of hunger. Drowning in a high that felt anything but good. But how could I stop? The attention was worth the pain at this point. I admit I was not okay, But I recognize that I never will be. Some scars can fade  But some cut so deep; it has forever changed me. Some things will never be the same for me. I will never be able to look at Thanksgiving like I used to. I will never be able to forget the fear of burning thousands of calories behind a locked door. I will never be able to go to a doctor's office without feeling immense anxiety. I will never be able to “just go for a run”. I will never be her ever again. And maybe that is okay. But maybe it’s not. Maybe my brain has morphed into believing new things. Maybe I have been sculpted into my new self. Maybe I will never feel that type of pain aga...

 Second Best By: Megan Choices. Decisions that are made every day. They affect others despite our knowledge of it. I am always a second choice. No one likes me good enough to be first, but I am not hated so much so that I am not an option. I think I would rather not be an option. It would hurt a lot less. To think that I could have been first, but I am not good enough or important enough hurts. My spirit is compressed into a body bag at the thought of being second. People come to me when their first choice did not work out. I don't want to be somebody's second. I want to be their first. I want to be the first person that pops into their head. But I am not. I am the secondhand option. Being passed down from one to the next,  like I am on an assembly line in a factory. Maybe I should be okay with being second. But I am not. My heart yearns to be something more than a last-minute idea. My soul decomposes when I think that someone else is my first choice, and I am merely a second....

 I Will Never Be Her By: Megan As a child, I always thought of my future. I would imagine how I would be when I was all grown up. I imagined I would be extremely beautiful like one of those celebrities I used to watch. Obviously, I would be a dancer moving swiftly across the floor while entertaining the crowd. I would be the "popular girl."  Everyone would know me and love me which in turn I would have a ton of friends. I imagined I would be smart.  The smartest person in my class to be exact. I would always get straight A's and would get into an Ivy League college. I would be an avid reader, and a good one too. I would be the fastest reader in town. I would have guys chasing after me.  All lined up waiting for me to be single again. I would meet my soulmate in high school and we would get married and live happily ever after. It all seemed so nice and simple. But it wasn't. I am not her. And I will never be her. I am not extremely beautiful. I have flaws on my skin a...

  Sanguine By: Megan  The air inside me is compressed by sadness. I am dragged across pavement by my own self. I lie here waiting for someone to save me but help never comes. The wind picks up and tosses me against a brick building. Thump. Every bit of myself is gone. I lay in a body that is no longer me. I continue to get hit by the debris of other people's problems. My dreams haunt my reality by reminding me of what I can’t have. But I lie hopeful that I will someday just be in my never-ending dream. Joy would overwhelm me. My soul would reenter my body and I would be alive. But that will never happen. So I remain soulless, in the body that reminds me of what is not mine.

 Anyone Important By: Megan “What does it feel like?”  I ask myself at midnight, “to be loved and fully understood by someone.” I have always been second best. The thrifted version of perfection. I never thought there would be a day where I could say that I was anyone important. And I still wonder if it’s even possible. My life was built on lies I was told. A figment of reality and I laid watching it all unfold.  I was never good enough to be proudly introduced. Or smart enough for people to say “she’s going to go somewhere.” I was just there. I was not crying in self-pity, but instead crying in self-hatred. I was not wrong. How many times do people actually tell me they care? Hell, how many times do they even act like they do? I always thought it was me who was the problem. I would never be anyone important to you. But it’s not me, It’s you, boo! You are the one I’m too good for. You are the one I am too smart for. I will not lie here and constantly tell myself that I am...