Zero is Not a Size. Zero is Hardly a Number.

And you try on your boyfriend like he is the last pair of jeans in the store. Desperate to walk out of there with a pair of pants in the shopping bag. Desperate to fit like he is the brand you idolize and you don't want to settle for some American Eagle shit. But no matter how hard you try, he's too loose in the thighs and too snug in the hips... And you hold your breath to button him on.

But when he's into rock, you're into indie. And when he wants to go out for Thai, you'd rather stay in and watch reruns of __________, ordering the nearest Domino's Pizza. You want to be the party girl, but secretly you'd rather sit by the train tracks and draw, even though you never were into drawing. Or go to the coffee shop and write in your notebook, using your dark coffee as inspiration. Because you're too hipster for caramel machiatto and too hipster still for Starbucks. You're the queen of misfits.

But you're too scared to try on that kind of boyfriend. Shop in those kind of stores. You'd rather stick to your True Religions and your Big Stars, even when American Society for $40 at Nordstrom is your soul mate. Or the old, worn Levi's you found in the thrift store. The jeans they sell in Wet Seal, God forbid. Or maybe you should model those Hudsons that fit like a second skin. You'd rather pretend you're a size two and skip breakfast and lunch instead of trying on the size four just to see. But your Miss Me's are trying just as hard as you are. Listen up. Stop trying to be something you're not. Stop trying to wear the brand everyone else is. And know that you aren't held back by a number...

_______ (pronounced ___-____) love- I don't have to tell you wearers out there it runs a little small. And you feel exclusive just because you have a skinny ass, but that's all your boyfriend values too. If you were anorexic, he wouldn't tell you to eat. Not because he doesn't care, but because he likes you just the way you are. And you told me that he's the love of your life because he "accepts" you. Just the same way you swear off cheese and nuts, counting fat grams the way others count calories. Although Vogue tells you that's how you earn heaven, you're caught in the hellfire. You taste like disintegration (not the Cure album) and you're digging out your grave with a plastic spoon from the cafeteria where you watched everyone eat but you. You reek of mints and cheap perfume. And even though I don't use hashtags often, you know I'm speaking truth.

Jolt love = Low maintenance love. You watch YouTube videos together all night and can't keep your eyes open in the daylight, but at least he keeps you laughing. There are some people you're meant to fall in love with and some people that push you off the diving board before you were ready to jump for yourself. There are some times that you want chili dogs and some times that you want chili fries. I love you more than I hate you, but Ed is still holding me back. You're the reflection of romance and the reflection of tragedy. I thought I was "letting myself go" but maybe I was letting myself be.

 Let's riot. Let's run away and form our own society. Ever since zero was the new two, I never hated myself more. And I was the size zero. Let's cut out all the sizes and base them on your figure. Size 14 could be called " classic hourglass" instead. Instead of realism, I choose idealism, and don't tell me I am being naive. When I cut just to see myself bleed, I didn't intend for him to judge me as if I was goth Barbie. There are some things you are meant to judge and some things you are meant only to see.

Life doesn't score you like golf. You don't get ahead by wearing a smaller size than par indicates. Than society determines. Life doesn't score you like football. If you wear a size seven, you don't get that touchdown sewn into your stars. And life doesn't score you based on a point system. Ten points for dating the star quarterback. Five points for dating the hippie. Zero if you can't keep a boyfriend and you sleep around. Minus five you haven't lost your virginity by your thirtieth birthday.

Somedays I wonder if I'm being heard. Or if I still have to cut off all my hair for some attention.