They weigh me down with each step
And I don't mean physically.
They're small enough I can get away with a sweatshirt and nothing else.
People tell me I'm lucky.
But it's funny because I don't feel lucky,
And when my laugh trips off my tongue and stutters to the floor
between the tips of my sneakers,
I don't feel lucky,
When my thank you's sound hollow like drums in my ears
After someone compliments my style and tells me I should consider
modeling
Because "women with my interesting look" are in high demand,
And I don't want to be in high demand,
I don't feel lucky,
When the man next to me at the bus stop
Scrounges inside for some semblance of modern day chivalry and
accompanies his phrase
"Lady's first"
With a wink
I don't feel lucky,
As a squeeze them,
Twin loathsome mountains of fat on my chest,
Into my binder each morning just so I
Don't have a panic attack as soon as I leave the room,
I don't feel lucky,
Every time I hesitate when I reach the bathroom doors with those
stick figure signs and I have to decide which one I want to BE today
Or be stared at in today,
And ultimately it doesn't matter because I always make sure I'm
alone when I wash my hands,
Lying on my side or my stomach and feeling the weight of that tissue
on my sternum,
I don't feel lucky,
When I walk down the claustrophobic grocery store isles looking for
the right brand of tampons and pads to stop my unwanted ******
from bleeding everywhere
And I flush beet red because I know
Above my head is a neon sign loudly proclaiming that I am shopping
for
"Feminine hygiene products"
And so sometimes I walk out with nothing and
Wake up to red sheets just to feel even worse,
I don't feel lucky,
Each time I release my bonds in the shower,
Washing away whatever dirt that day
may have thrown on my skin,
And I glance down at the scalding water cascading over my sternum,
Along my uneven collarbones,
Between the caverns of my *******
And I realize even naked I am not myself
Am I ever myself?
I don't feel lucky.
Jogging up stairs or walking quickly to class
And feeling my rib cage strain to get enough oxygen against
The binder I subject it to,
Or massaging my back as best I can as it screams at me
Resisting the tight fabric I have pulled against it all day,
But shedding that binding feels so wrong so
Sometimes I leave it on all night and wake up in the morning and
take Tylenol
So I can function,
I don't feel lucky.
And it makes me sad because I don't want to hate myself
But I don't know how to love myself like this.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
They weigh me down with each step
And I don't mean physically.
They're small enough I can get away with a sweatshirt and nothing else.
People tell me I'm lucky.
But it's funny because I don't feel lucky,
And when my laugh trips off my tongue and stutters to the floor
between the tips of my sneakers,
I don't feel lucky,
When my thank you's sound hollow like drums in my ears
After someone compliments my style and tells me I should consider
modeling
Because "women with my interesting look" are in high demand,
And I don't want to be in high demand,
I don't feel lucky,
When the man next to me at the bus stop
Scrounges inside for some semblance of modern day chivalry and
accompanies his phrase
"Lady's first"
With a wink
I don't feel lucky,
As a squeeze them,
Twin loathsome mountains of fat on my chest,
Into my binder each morning just so I
Don't have a panic attack as soon as I leave the room,
I don't feel lucky,
Every time I hesitate when I reach the bathroom doors with those
stick figure signs and I have to decide which one I want to BE today
Or be stared at in today,
And ultimately it doesn't matter because I always make sure I'm
alone when I wash my hands,
Lying on my side or my stomach and feeling the weight of that tissue
on my sternum,
I don't feel lucky,
When I walk down the claustrophobic grocery store isles looking for
the right brand of tampons and pads to stop my unwanted ******
from bleeding everywhere
And I flush beet red because I know
Above my head is a neon sign loudly proclaiming that I am shopping
for
"Feminine hygiene products"
And so sometimes I walk out with nothing and
Wake up to red sheets just to feel even worse,
I don't feel lucky,
Each time I release my bonds in the shower,
Washing away whatever dirt that day
may have thrown on my skin,
And I glance down at the scalding water cascading over my sternum,
Along my uneven collarbones,
Between the caverns of my *******
And I realize even naked I am not myself
Am I ever myself?
I don't feel lucky.
Jogging up stairs or walking quickly to class
And feeling my rib cage strain to get enough oxygen against
The binder I subject it to,
Or massaging my back as best I can as it screams at me
Resisting the tight fabric I have pulled against it all day,
But shedding that binding feels so wrong so
Sometimes I leave it on all night and wake up in the morning and
take Tylenol
So I can function,
I don't feel lucky.
And it makes me sad because I don't want to hate myself
But I don't know how to love myself like this.
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