her arms are slightly less chubby than mine
her ***** are slightly perkier
i have a slightly prettier face
she has slightly nicer clothes.
and though her smile is crooked and snaggle-toothed
and her eyes carry black bags
and her hair is the color of straw mixed with mud
she must be slightly better than me
because he wanted her
slightly
m
o
r
e

It is August
but I have your shirt pulled up to my nose
like your scent will
protect me from another bad night.

I wear it as a turtleneck
and tuck my arms inward, making a blanket.
I am so sick of
              not feeling safe.

I remember asking you to use the tip
of your fingers on my
shoulderblade
caress the flesh into small waves
(You live too close to the sea to not taste
of salt)
then fabric wrinkled in a bundle.

Make me guess what the skinstrokes mean.
I am learning braille
or just how not to be alone.

I am so tired of
              waiting to know what you drew

when the sun is so high
shadows can only be cast on the oceanfloor
and everything above my clothes
breathes (I love you
too much to not taste of salt).

When summer ends
maybe I will get a good night's sleep, held
by seaweed and
reading your messages out of a bottle.

after my heart broke,
my veins looked like the poems
he wrote on my back.

girls draw butterflies
across my breast, but men put
them in my belly.

sometimes, oxygen
kills me more than it allows
my lungs to expand.

there is a gemstone
in my stomach, it makes my
cheeks nearly purple.