This World Needs More of Me. {poetry}


He told me I was bigger

than the girls he was used to.

The words rolled off his tongue,

like a compliment wrapped

in a bomb threat.

He ran his hands along my hips

like he owned them.

Like he adopted a highway

and my dress was a piece of trash

he patrolled the roads to remove.

He kissed me with lips

that whispered I owed him.

Like he was doing me a favor,

by pressing his lips into mine.

Like maybe I should send him

a Thank You card afterwards.

(He was the worst kisser I’ve ever known.)

But I didn’t leave.

I was eternally indebted to him

for breaking his skinny-girl standard

and taking a chance on hips and ass

and thighs with no gap.

He pressed himself into me and I wiggled away,

until the night became a balancing routine

just to stay on the bed.

He said he was a mover in his sleep,

but he meant to say he liked it best

when I took up less space.

He looked at me with eyes

that were sorry,

like he wished he could save me.

He had a way of looking down on me

even when we were

eye to eye.

I hated the way he would pat my back,

like he was trying to compact me

into a smaller form.

I hated the way my eyes sunk in

when I was around him,

almost as though they saw

whatever it was he saw,

and they couldn’t get far enough away.

I hated the way mirrors and walls

and my reflection in the window

screamed at the top of their lungs

whenever I walked past them.

I used to think it was all in my head

until one day,

I swear strangers started hearing it too,

Like the way he saw me molded me into a new form.

A lifeless, empty shell

of what used to be a walking affirmation.

Like the lipstick words smeared themselves

across my mirror and turned into

the only repeating phrase

that seemed to be a constant.

“You’re taking up too much space.”

Unlike the sad song

I hear so many girls listening to

as they lull themselves to sleep,

I didn’t feel like I wasn’t enough.

I felt like I was too much.

Too much body for one soul to inhabit.

Too much skin and too many bones.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel so small

and so big all at the same time.

Until one day I caught a glimpse

of my eyes in the mirror.

I suppose I’d only be able

to avoid them for so long.

I looked past my eyes,

and my kohl black liner.

Passed the ice cold tears

that seemed to squeeze out

with every passing breath.

I looked so far inside my mind

that I swear the whole world around me

turned black.

And then…

Light. So much light.

I would have had to shield my eyes,

if I weren’t staring into my own.

It hurt but I didn’t want it to stop.

Sometimes hurting is better than nothing.

I stared so long that I thought

I might have gone blind.

Until my eyes came into focus,

and I saw a pitch-black room,

and a neon girl filled

with midnight streetlights,

and full moon howling,

and flame-filled fire

burning from the inside out.

I saw star-filled eyes

doing their best to navigate

the empty night,

and I saw a body

trying to contain so many things,

that it couldn’t ever be big enough.

I realized that he was wrong, but so was I.

I realized that this world

doesn’t need

tiny dancers and silenced smiles.

It doesn’t need quiet minds

and settled thoughts.

I realized that there isn’t

any part of me,

inside or out,

that this world doesn’t need.

In that moment I realized

that I’m enough as I am,

but there’s no truth in striving to be less.

I realized, in that moment,

that this world needs more of me.


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Macaile Hutt
Macaile Hutt believes the best perfume is Idaho mountain air, the deepest laugh often comes from the mouth of a child, and coffee is the answer no matter the question. She has had to learn the hard way that some words ache until they are said. Find your voice and let it be heard. Macaile would like you to join her on Facebook or her website, as you take your own heart and live this beautiful life in search of perfect moments in such a way that every moment becomes perfect.
Macaile Hutt
Macaile Hutt