please,
hear me
when I say stop.
maybe you don’t notice
the way I blush
or think it’s funny
that such a stupid thing
can make me cry.
but honestly
please,
hear me.
I beg you,
never say it again…
when you do
I’m 13 years old again.
how I hated to be 13
and so awkward.
they’d tell me I was pretty
and laugh as they ran away.
I knew how I looked to them
because I look the same way to myself now
I could never change my height
or size of my nose,
and could never afford expensive clothes.
and when there was no one else to make fun of
someone made a funny comment
about my short hair…
I must look like a boy to this day.
I can’t even hear my father,
mother, or brothers
when they tell me I look even “nice”
because they have to say it
or maybe just do out of habit.
so when someone says I’m “pretty,”
or “look nice,”
or calls me “cutie”
it takes me all the way back…
and my heart sinks just a little further down.
and when you don’t hear me,
you make it worse
because you don’t care how you hurt me…
this is worse than being 13.