[Timestamp: 03/17/2017] 
I am charismatic,
Everybody’s friend.
But, it seems that
I will only always be
The shoulder to lean on,
The happy cheerleader,
The one who listens.
I will never be
The target of affection,
The one they send quiet letters and hushed confessions to,
The girl who everybody loves.
I’m sorry that I am
Very, very fat,
Not aesthetically pleasing,
Unattractive in all sense of the word,
Unconfident enough to bury my own grave,
Not the type of girl anybody wants,
Thinks she is very worth it when she knows very well that she isn’t,
And can’t even love herself to the point that she’d be willing to give her meager life away just to do something worthwhile.
I’m sorry I can’t be the type of girl anybody can want.
Sometimes, I’d like to think
Since my body, my face and my personality aren’t what they find “good”,
I might as well just do something good for other people
So that, someday, maybe someone will remember me
By the small differences I wanted to change.
You don’t have to remember what I look like. 
I just hope you remember what I did.


[Timestamp: 03/13/2017]
I lost my voice
For a week two months ago.
With only the ability to rasp
And whisper,
I survived the week
And asked for consideration.
Having no voice 
Made me realize
How my best asset
Wasn’t my friendliness,
Or my ability to adapt quickly.
It was my voice. 
With my voice,
I was able to reach
Even those my hands can’t touch.
With my voice, 
I was able to paint myself colorful
And give my brush to others
So that they can paint themselves
And maybe more, too.
With my voice,
I was able to protect
What mattered the most.
With my voice,
I validated my presence
I proved to myself that I am here,
In the present,
Never drifting.

내 바보

[Timestamp: 01/01/2017]

It didn’t come to me all at once
It didn’t get me completely off guard
I knew it was creeping
Inside my heart,
Slowly, hiding
Because you were the wrong person.
It didn’t feel right
To be looking into your eyes
When I’ve promised to love another.

I could imagine
The late nights with you,
Talking about how the stars contain mass we cannot comprehend,
Or how beautiful words sound, trying to describe what the eyes can only see for a fleeting moment,
Or maybe the way you’ll let me hear
The melodies you’ve made
To bring tribute to the world
That crafted us, with its careless and rough hands
Or maybe the warmth of our bodies offer to each other, a silent union,
In the middle of the night
While we confess all ours sins and anxieties
To each other,
Our fears of tomorrow and oblivion,
And reassure our co-existence, even if
Short-lived and uneventful.
Or, maybe the texts when you’ve gone far away
And my meager hands cannot reach you,
Playful bickering, hot, sticky tension, and pictures of each other,
The unspoken “I miss you” evident, even from afar,
Affectionately changing your name to “내 바보” and laughing
At the irony of your intelligence and stupidity
But feeling delighted at being the only one
Who can call you such.

I go back to the reality
Of what could be
And clench my heart in my fist
Because I cannot call you mine,
And you cannot call me yours.
We are separated
Not only by miles,
But also by worlds.
I cannot reach you,
I cannot touch you,
I cannot even say, “I love you”
내 바보한테.