Hot

All my life I longed to be hot. It took me

so many years. So many years.

I had to go through my depression first. I lost

so many kilos. So many kilos. 

Not that fat girls aren't hot. They're hot as fuck. But I thought

that me, in particular, could not.

I spent so many euros. So many euros

buying myself pretty clothes. I learned to favour

every curve, I made them swift

to turn in a quiet car. I learned to tame 

the wilderness in my body, even though 

I loved her so. I plucked so many hairs, so many

hours out the clock just to be

hot.

It took me so long to be the hot girl. The girl you dream of.

The girl you timidly, secretly cum for, in the dead silence

then look awkward in the eye in the loud.

I finally made it. I was so intimidatingly gorgeous, the kind of girl

that makes your jaw drop.

Only then I realized that I didn't want that job.

Letting go of the hot girl in the mirror, the girl

to whom I would submit my soul if she didn't already

have it inside her skull - it hurt.

I had to tell her myself, that she had to go. I had to watch.

Sometimes, it's your birthday and you recieve a wonderful gift. Everybody is so excited for you to open it, because

it has so much worth. They spent so much money on it, so much work.

But it's not what you wanted.

You can fully see its value. You can tell how precious the materials are,

how much meaning has been poured inside. It's beautiful, breathtakingly so. It's not that you don't find it beautiful - you really do. It's just...

that it's not for you. You wish someone else had it.

You're too embarrassed to decline this gift, so you keep it for years, you show it off, you know it's something anyone would be proud of. You almost believe you are from how hard you try to keep the farce. But deep inside you know that it doesn't belong in your home.

Every time you look at it, it's a rose that pricks

you with venomous thorns.

They never gave you a receipt. You can't return this gift.

It has your name engraved on it, so you can't sell it nor

give it to someone beloved.

You want to get rid of it, once and for all.

You can only break it. Throw it onto the floor.

And when you do, it hurts. Because it was incalculably precious, unique, something that never will repeat

in the history of this world, made with so much hope.

It's impossible to not feel like a bastard, like the worst

even if you do it out of love. You need to release your trapped soul

from the mirror, you smash it into pieces and don't even think of the many years of bad luck to come.

So many years.

To become hot. Just hot. 

Like I always wanted.