Hannah Make Art Good.

Y'know, why is it so hard to like the way you look?
The way your hair sits,
How your nose fits
Between your eyes
How their vision hits
at just “the wrong spot”
As soon as you walk in

It’s
fine

Say the pretty people on the cover
Funny people
Perfect people
Tell the girl she needs to love her

Self

Less, ish, absorbed, sufficient
The latter I’d prefer because once you know your soul no one else can own it
But I don’t know myself at all
It’s grown
on me
the feeling that I don’t know
If I’ll ever be
The person
To show myself I’m pretty

It’s
petty
really
sort of selfish

Silly that we turn them down
When they call us beautiful
We drown the ones who say it honestly
With “no’s” and trivialities

My hair is wrong
My thighs are huge
I look sick
And slow
And fat
And tired

I’m tired
Of seeking validation and finding it
In no one
And going
To the store
And hearing people tell me
To find beauty
In myself

Because I have no abilities
No one taught me how
To love the way I look
And now?

Where’s the easy part?
Where’s the part where I become the chest puffed out in the street
And the shoulders back?

Because all that they tell you
Is that society is lying
And you are pretentious
And you are wrong
And

I’m wrong
I’m wrong
I’m sick
I’m tired

Who’s voice is this?
It can’t be mine,
But what’s mine is theirs

And

I was never taught
How to be
A “mine.”

I can’t really think
of a title
for this one.

I was just wondering if it’s possible to exist nowhere
or exist as someone else
or something.

To breathe through new lungs and see through different eyes
and process everything with a fresh brain
and go to bed excited about the next day.

I read once that every moment is an opportunity to remake yourself
I used to think that that was the best idea in the world
but after trying and trying and trying
I think it’s bullshit.

What are you supposed to do when you’re locked in to you?
Don’t fit in anywhere?
Can I skip this?
Can I skip everything?
Can I start over?
or something?

I guess this is kind of a shitty poem.
But maybe it’s supposed to be.
It’ll never be anything else, so why not?
Maybe someday someone will dig it up 
and put it in the history books
and try to find the meaning
or something.