I miss the person I was years ago.
I used to have all these people around me,
Seemingly trying to get my attention.
They always included me.
I hated my body, but that was okay (it wasn’t).
Because my friends always looked,
Always commented,
Always liked,
And occasionally, other people did too.
I was sickly, but it was okay (it wasn’t).
Because I knew that I was trying my best—
I exercised,
I hydrated.
I was consistent, stressed, but happy nonetheless—
Because there was always someone trying to approach me.
Even though I knew they used me, it was okay (it wasn’t).
Because they stayed,
They laughed.
Soon, I became overwhelmed.
I didn’t want to be treated like that, but it was okay (was it?)—
Because I still have my friends at the end of the day,
And they’re all I need.
I had crushes, and I felt as light as a dandelion—
Carried away by the wind.
I’ve always felt so intensely,
More so that I often questioned:
‘‘Is this the worst one yet?’’ (It wasn’t).

I miss the person I was a year ago.
There were still people around me,
Most of them included me.
I hated my body, but was it okay? (maybe?)
I know my friends always looked (and that’s all they did),
Some of them commented,
They mostly liked,
And maybe other people did too? (maybe.)
I got hospitalized, but that’s okay (it wasn’t).
Because I knew that I was tired, almost everyone did—
Including the people inside my home and the nurses.
I wasn’t exercising because I had other priorities.
I was stressed, but was I happy nonetheless? (perhaps).
People still approached me—fewer, but still.
I never let myself be walked over again,
And they respected that (did they?).
It’s okay (it’s not), because I still have my friends—
Even though they barely talked,
They’re all I need.
I developed a crush, and I felt as one as the ocean—
Calm, excited, strong.
I’ve always felt so intensely,
More so that I often questioned:
‘‘Is this the worst one yet?’’ (Maybe?)

I miss the person I was months ago.
I hate my body, and it’s not okay.
I found myself questioning:
‘‘How did I even despise my own reflection years ago when I would give anything to get it back?’’
My friends barely look,
Barely comments,
Heck, not even a like—
To say the least, the others are also the same (they're all the same).
I didn’t really get ''sick'' so that was great—
That is, if we’re not considering the holistic effects of being hospitalized a year ago.
I know I’m tired,
And maybe other people do notice it in contrast to their actions (hopefully? not?)
I’m not exercising because I can’t bring myself to do so.
I don’t have ‘priorities’ because I’m on vacation—
I have no excuse, except for something (I don’t know what it is, I’ll tell you once I have one).
Am I stressed? Nevertheless, whether I am or not,
I’m not happy—
Or am I?
No one approaches me.
I swore I would never let myself be walked over again,
But I still am—
I’m so alone.
It isn’t okay because I feel like my friends have slipped away from me.
They rarely talk, even though I know they have the time.
They’re all I need, but I can’t even reach out.
I’m still ‘crushing’ on that guy from a year ago.
But I feel like someone’s prodding a needle on the skin under my nail whenever he looks at me.
Where are the fleeting feelings from a year ago?
I’ve always felt so excited, but now my sensations are riddled with guilt—
With shame, contempt, confusion—
Towards him? Or myself? (I don’t know, maybe both?).
I’ve always felt so intensely,
More so that I often questioned:
‘‘Is this the worst one yet?’’ (It is).

I miss who I was before,
When I could bring myself to be happy because of the people around me,
To feel hope because of my efforts,
To feel optimistically deep towards the people I like,
To not feel alone.
I feel like I’m screaming for help, but at the same time, I’m not.
Am I the problem? Do people find me distasteful?
Did I distance myself too much? Or did they?
Do they find me boring? Do they even like me?
I want to grip someone’s wrist and get on my knees.
I want to beg, to feel their presence as my nails dug into their skin
(But I never will, because words are supposed to come out of me in those moments—
I still don’t have them).
I feel everything and nothing.
I feel so much but so little.
I used to think that I wouldn’t reach 18, but here I am—
Helpless and alive,
A rotting piece of flesh on the side of the street.