i thought
that seeing my own bones
would let me love
the flesh that is my home;

so you’re right
this is not your fault,
but dear god,
how wonderful it would have been
if you had ever told me
to stop,
to stop trying to change
because you loved what was there;
how wonderful it would have been
if you had kissed my skin
and said you loved all of it,
boundlessly,
reverently;

instead
you gave a voice
to what was already in my head
every time you asked -
“will you really eat that?”