We ask a lot of our children
To contend with our problems
the baggage we carry
the damage we bring
i press into my pillow and melt—
as if it were the chest of a man.
a kind man
I dust off the bruises
On my knees,
because after all I did fall.
A story rattles
loudly in my backpack,
One.
Don’t wear that outfit.
If you wear eye liner that’s too thick
Or a skirt that’s too short,
Then you are asking for trouble.
relieved not to be four-years-old
again learning I am not the center
everything constantly spiraling
hourly coping with roller coaster
emotions, up and down seesaw
My flesh has become paper thin, folded
into books on your shelf
until the spines split.
My feet have carried me for many miles
At times, quickly
At times, slowly
They have hurt and they have bled
And they carry me still
*please note this content could be triggering for some
When a baby is stillborn we ask
what happened but mean
what did you do?
You sit in moms bed and yell for her to come and get you with a smile on your face / I guess you didn’t care about being scared to ask for what you wanted / You never even asked, i don’t think / you always screamed /
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If you are a female firstborn,
your ears are pierced at birth,
though earrings may be taken away
at five, when you walk on your father
make out with your mother’s cousin.
There between your stubbled chin
& the shoulder pocked by adolescence
is my place, my hollow;
where muscle & sinew meet
Dear future daughters and little sisters,
I ask you to be different
I dare you to be different
I need you to be different
post-shower mirror glance
shows someone else’s stomach
stretch out my hand
shocked that it’s me—
deep plum lines streaking
silly-nilly up, making my belly button
parenthetical, have gone silent
my body has been my body before i was allowed to paint my nails /
or wear makeup / or shave my small tan legs in mom’s clean white tub /
as i giggled and hugged myself / because this is what big girls did
We are pretty –
Pretty pictures
Pushed to the side
Walking on glass
This body will weigh down by judgments.
The scars too will be mocked and questioned.
The flab will be disgusted and hated.
Cursing the periods, while thinking, you should’ve gone out or waited.
When I asked my dad if I could interview him about prison
we were on the couch in pajamas watching Law and Order: SVU
My body
became so tiny
I could feel
my heart desperate
to survive
against my wishes
Staring at my body in the mirror is like waiting looking for answers from a dead man. The dead cannot speak, and my body cannot repair the brokenness inside me.
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“It looks nicer straight,” they said to me
with a grin on their face.
Because God had blessed us
With the rarity
That is the lack of humidity
On a Florida summer day.