Everyone falls in love
with her and even though
he is spectacular,
he is another one
of so many the same
and I'm sorry but
her reciprocation
does not make him special.
She makes things happen.
And soon she will spit
him out and blame him
for not being perfect
on her teeth.

The only time I drink
iced tea is when it is his
so today, when he wasn't here
I poured him some tea
and drank it all.

I shaved my legs
for the first time
in months.
I have not done it
till now because
I can't look at my
naked body without
wincing or crying.
I didn't like it before
but it it is so strange.
The only good thing
about it is you.
I address only you
out of all ten million people
in and out of the world
that I am talking to
because you're all
that really matters.
I love many people
and one fuzzy man
more than any others
but you are everything
and I didn't even
shed a drop of blood
because I'm saving it
all for you.
All for you.

So many women are beautiful.
All women are beautiful.
She is four hundred pounds
and all I can think is
where is she plugged in at?
She is made of plastic
but has so much love in her heart
even if it is all for herself
she is glorious.
And she thinks she is ugly
and that makes her the most
beautiful because everyone else
thinks she is a goddess.

He can look at me
with eyes that have
seen so so so many
and he can see my lines
and embarrassing parts
and still call me beautiful
when he sees perfection
everyday and could have it
with just a word
but still thinks I'm beautiful.
I hope it isn't just
because his daughter
is growing inside of me
and that is selfish and
makes me uglier.

But even when she thinks
she is a little bit beautiful
her fiance looks with goggles
at dancing naked dirty dolls
and makes her feel ugly.
My singing friend says
in her best song
"...judgement is so ugly."

If I knew how to hate,
I would hate the word best.
I don't ever want to use it again.
All use it
and use it
for so many things
that it is cheap
that now I gag
with it on my tongue.

I wonder if I'll scoot
up and down the steps
on my butt
when I am ninety.

I hope I don't
think about hate
enough to learn
how to do it.

I wonder if hate
feels like love.
I wonder if love
is love if it is
easy to do to
everything.
So far, loving much
has not reached
the same kind of love
for that fuzzy man
or the kicking
girl in my belly.
That love is
_____________.