Talking about someone I want to be, someone I’ll never be.
Even since I discovered her videos, her YouTube, and her poems when I was in high school, my brain decided that she would always be a better version of me,
To be able to talk so poetically, to have something crafted so beautifully & worth listening to.
She is 27, living in London. With so many published works, poetry, prose, essays. She graduated Uni & I have a meeting with my personal tutor because I can't remember how to write a thesis, I have a one-to-one to help me because I can't stop trying to delete myself.
She said her journey from the States to the UK was easy but when I attempted the same adventure I ended up hospitalized after two months. Returning to only feeling content if I'm guzzling alcohol until I completely blackout.
I'm not even sure how she published things while on her visa. Because, if I even think about it, I have a meeting, & I will be deported before the tea has finished steaming.
She is so pretty and I hate my body. She hates her body, hated her body. I hate my body. No matter the my I style my hair I wish I was a Polly Pocket ( because I could chuck my head across this disgusting room-can you hear me screaming??) Her room is always so organized, with personality spilling from the holes, which hung pictures from previous residents.
She started her own publishing company. SHE STARTED HER OWN PUBLISHING COMPANY.
She loves bugs, even has some as pets. I'm not allowed pets. I cry if there is a spider in my room.
How is she so confident in front of the camera. I once had a YouTube, deleted due to comments from people who walked me to class.
Her voice soothing, but I was told my accent was a turn-off. I keep trying to tell myself to shut up, that no one cares about what I have to say. So many opinions in this world and mine truly doesn't matter because no one is listening. But hers, I hang on each of her words. Worship her and would create a shrine if the gods promised to make me 1/2 the person she is.
She's always wearing eyeliner, my boyfriend likes eyeliner. And I can't get my hands to stop shaking and when he falls asleep, I sob so quietly because I know he can't truly find me pretty.
Her life is filled with hardships, like mine. Yet she portrays such a strong front. I don't even have enough money to visit one of her events.
People call her a queer icon, and I can't even write the word without becoming uncomfortable. In a queer study class, I was told that because I'm dating a guy I am no longer bi. No one respects my pronouns, I don't know my gender but I'm a feminine presenting so everyone tells me I'm s girl.
I wake up early to walk 30 minutes up a 25 and 12 percent incline hill just to clean rat poop because I'm desperate for money and I'm trying to afford food.
I mean, at least I never lived in Ohio?
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