i do not wish to stick out

like a weed,

the “fat” one in a group of skinny teens.

a voice tells me to just give up,

however, there’s a wish

that one day

i will be able to be

the most popular one

however,

something tells me

i’ll only, only be

the ugly weed

in this field of dreams.

yes, i may have a friend, or two,

but only heavens knows if they’re real, it’s true,

and something inside

just tells me to hide,

but why don’t i cry?

is there something more?

(no, they all lied…)

just a weed

in this world

of high

expectations,

lonely,

can’t you see?

it’s my

devastation

if only,

if only,

if only,

if only…

i might

be able

to cope

with

emotions,

but someday

all these thoughts

will be

my creation

but it’s just

a lonely

sunday…

(Yet another poem but instead it’s in the form of a vent cause I’m still struggling with the fact of being obese even though I’m trying to fix that)