Mixed Feelings

You wanna know why I read? I read because books are my escape. I read because the friends I have in books are so much truer than the friends I have in real life. I read because in books I am as breathtakingly beautiful as the heroine in the story and not a one-hundred-thirty-three pound white girl with a black girl’s ass. I read because the stories are either so good, I can try to wish myself into them Or they’re so horrid they make my life look like a fairytale. You wanna know why I read? I read because the parents in books don’t yell at me for failing a test that I stayed up until 1 in the morning studying for Or tell me I’m getting cellulite when its clear that I already hate the way I look. I read because the little brothers and little sisters in books are adorably hilarious where mine are annoyingly bothersome. I read because when my nose is in a good book, my mind is where that book is, not in the reality that is my life. I read because the boys in books are more kind to me than the boys in my classes at school. You wanna know why I read? I read because I love to read. But you wanna know why I don’t read? I don’t read because reading is shameful in the world I live in. I don’t read because reading is something tedious, a chore you do simply to make the grade in English. I don’t read because the stories in books remind me just how much my life sucks. You wanna know why I don’t read? I don’t read because every page I turn is another homework assignment not turned in, another failing grade to show my parents. I don’t read because every time I read I want a snack to munch on, and every time that snack is a chocolate bar I think to myself “You fat, ugly girl, you don’t need that chocolate, you know what they say: a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips.” I don’t read because what boy wants a girl whose prince charming is not ever going to show up on her front porch with a dozen roses and a devastatingly handsome smile? You wanna know why I don’t read? I don’t read because every time I finish a book that was a new obsession, I have to find one just like it and there never is one. I don’t read because when the hero dies, so does a piece of my heart. I don’t read because every book I read just reminds me that I’m the freak brainiac of my class, and that’s all anyone sees when they look at me. I don’t read because the perfect characters in books make me hate my imperfect self. I don’t read because I hate to read.