She wants to fall in love,
but not with someone, no.
She wraps her arms around her body,
buries her face in her sleeves.
She smells like citrus;
she used too much soap.

She wants to love her throat
and her thighs
and her knees
and her mouth.

She gasps and sighs and screams sometimes
and spit oozes from between her lips.
She tried to ***** into the bushes
but as soon as she felt her stomach heave,
she gave up.

She wants to love her toes
and her collarbones
and her elbows
and her wrists.

A history book made her cry today,
and so did chocolate chip cookies.
She sweat and sweat
and scraped her hands
and her shower water was too cold.

She wants to love her calves
and her nose
and her spine
and her hips.

She hates the feeling of gagging
and she's afraid of pain
but not blood.
Her hair is all damp
and she chews on her cheeks.

She wants to love her voice
and her ribs
and her teeth
and her palms.

She likes a boy she shouldn't
and she wants to write poems on his skin,
but she has a math test on Wednesday
and that will hurt worse.

She wants to love her cheekbones
and her shoulders
and her jaw
and her stomach.

She really wants to love herself,
she really, really does.
I just don't think that she tries
very hard.