the wrong body sometimes touches me in my sleep
in toothless dreams and
quiet scenes.

I was homesick until I remembered
how toxic this place was.

I am a decaying organism,
and I am dying in your arms.
      every time you touch me
     another couple skin cells fall,
     and every time we kiss,
      I lose a bit of DNA

    so **** any way of living that isn't dying.

I was homesick until I realized
I had found a better one,
and now
I'm only sick for you.

For as long as I can remember, I've heard the whispers. The silent 'but's, the sidelong sighs, and the backhanded compliments that go in smooth and rip out ragged.
         I believe everyone has undeniable self-truths. One of my truths is that I am fat. It took me twenty years to come to the conclusion that this truth was not something to be ashamed or afraid of. Unfortunately, my mother doesn't agree.
         It's not wholly her fault; she was raised to be ashamed of her body and the bodies of women in general. We were taught that tolerance equals love but not necessarily acceptance. My body was something to tolerate. I loved my body in the way I loved my pesky little brother, mostly because I was told I must.
         My mother's body language whispered to my pre-teen insecurities, "You're beautiful...but", or "I'm not saying you have to lose weight...but", or "You're perfect the way God made you, I just wish that...". She taught me to be ashamed and afraid of the way my body was developing, "I wish you hadn't filled out so fast, that you wouldn't wear that shirt because it brings attention to the fact that you have the chest of a twenty something at thirteen." "That skirt shows too much skin and that shirt was cut too low, don't wear a tank top because the boys will think of you as **** first and intelligent second."
         There's nothing wrong with being the fat smart girl, although I have noticed that it's never 'smart fat girl' because being fat is evidently more important than intelligence. Being fat isn't bad. Being smart is a super good thing. The problem arises when the fat smart girl is taught that she must whisper. When you don't tell that girl that being beautiful has nothing to do with what others think of you and that she is absolutely allowed to have an opinion of her own, she won't find her voice until she can't hear yours anymore.
         I have whispered all my life. I don't wear brightly colored nail polish so that you won't notice that my hands stutter. I whisper with my body language. I whispered "no" when he went too far. I whispered when I wanted to scream.
         And I wondered why no one ever heard me.

you have kind of a cool brain
and today
I told you I was sorry

but it didn't make me feel much better
      at all
because I didn't really get to say
what I needed to like
how ******* brave I think you are
and how I hope you'll never
let anyone walk all over you
    the way I did because you
deserve
so much better

I guess maybe
there are some things I'm going to miss
but never enough to make me stay

Amidst the stench of alley trash
And musky homelessness,
The slicing eyes of a slinking black cat
Were the only silent watchers.

II

I lie at the bottom of a gaping chasm.
High above me, the cat peers
Over the edge.

III

The cold, dark cells
Echo the cries of loneliness.
The soft patter of black feline paws
Walk the halls in waiting.

IV

The car sped down the icy road
Until a black cat crossed its path
And stopped to watch them,
Passing.

V

I peer at the statue of an angel in the mist
And it stares back,
Adopting the beady green eyes
Of a black cat in the shadows.

VI

A woman runs from clawing hands.
The black cat must be in pursuit.

VII

Temptation cries my name
Three times.
The black cat awaits.