i choo-choo-choose to be awful. mmkay?

so i begin.
it is the summer of perfecting.
start with my excess ten pounds.
end with my unpolished poetry.
by the end, maybe i shall be
a literary bombshell.
or possibly just happy.
(and that is good.)


my brother sticks out of my family
like a strawberry in a blueberry patch.
he is handsome and charming
easily making people comfortable
and fall in love with him.
he is lithe and atheltic and goes to the gym.
the rest of us--well, we're certainly not pretty.
one sister is 19 but is really 10.
the other 10 and cries in the room next door
hoping that someone will take her hand in this new place.
i'm fat and awkward and can't catch balls.
my mum can only see shadows
and my father is even more awkward still.
no wonder that when he who thinks himself perfect
comes to see us
he feels so superior.
(at least we are learning to love ourselves for who we are.
not love how well are what others want.)