These Once Precious Things

These Once Previous Things

I once had a friend who,

after I felt his glare burning holes

on the side of my head,

told me I was ugly.

The actual words never came out of his mouth,

he was more crafty than that.

After running his eyes over my body

in that probing, penetrating way

that only men can,

he said my eyes were too big,

hair too short

breasts too large,

I was too short,

my skin was too dark,

arms too flabby,

stomach too big,

hips too wide,

After his declaration of disgust,

he stood arrogant,

watching,

waiting,

hoping to see if his words

forced tears to appear in the corner of my eyes.

I stood watching him, watching me.

Waiting.

Determined not to give this 5'3,

manga reading, wanna be ninja

the satisfaction, I laughed.

Didn't get the reaction you wanted, did you, asshole?

He told me he was only joking,

and walked away, checking to see

if I was as strong as I appeared,

and was not, instead, on the ground in tears.

But his hurtful assessment of me

were things I already thought about myself

in between smiles

when my mind drifted to that isolated

island where my insecurities run rampant,

and I let broken boys hurt me with

impunity.

He had won.