“Hey, do you know Jenn?”

“Which one?”

“You know, the little one?”

“Ohhhhh yeah that one, why?”

 

Descriptions of me are facinating

I wonder how many times

I can cycle through the system

Before I start to repeat

Like a scratched record

Your parents

Still don’t know you touched

 

I wonder

How many parts of me

Are missing

 

I’m always the little one

Or the smart one

Or the one in marching band

With an unreliable 8-5 step

And the world’s most out of tune piccolo

 

See? There I go again

Adding in the little things

But it’s the little things

That make us special

 

Still, I try to avoid them

Like I avoid writing poetry

About someone

Because I hate the feeling in my gut

When I change “her” to “him”

Just in case anyone would notice

 

Yes! The little things

Like how I don’t mind being called cute

But I hate being called beautiful

Because it gets to the point

Where I would rather scratch another scar into my wrist

Than hear someone tell me

I’m too beautiful not to

 

That has nothing to do with beauty

 

But there are still more tiny tidbits

That I’m sure you don’t care about

But I’m going to tell you anyways

 

Because letting go parts of my existence

Is like losing baby teeth

It leaves a hole for a while

But something stronger replaces it

 

So bear with me

As I shed my scars and bruises

Because no one will ever identify me

By my 5.5 size shoe

 

No one will ever say

“You know, the one who’s had

Eleven boyfriends, half a girlfriend,

And never enough friends to feel normal?”

 

The one with braces

On her teeth and her knees

 

The one who’s "wasting her intelligence"

On becoming a teacher

 

The one who’s always smiling

But can’t stop screaming

Let me remind you

That this poem is about little things

 

But they stopped being so little

 

Parts of me matter

So when I am defined

By size, smarts, or music

I feel tiny

 

My record

Has been skipping for a while now

I think I need an update

 

Put me on a cd

And play me until I become outdated

 

Upload me to an mp3

And shuffle

Until I become more interesting

 

Listen to the little parts of me

Not the lyrics

But the drum beat

 

Hear my insignificance

Pounding out quarter notes

Until my metronome pulse

Lulls you to sleep

 

And you dream

About how important

You are

To me