how do you cope
when the hands of beauty
are wrapped around your throat

and every way in which i
tell myself in whispers that
THE SHAPE OF MY THIGHS IS WORTH IT
is shattered by
the danger in the pantry

deciphering the truth from
what i've been told in monotone
is what keeps me gripping the sheets
at four am
while you're still asleep
and stealing the blankets

don't hold me hostage
by the way i love avocados
and the smell of boiling pasta
and iced tea
and peanut butter

don't hold me hostage
with the ways in which my
knees and hips do not conform
to what catches your attention


i won't let
the curve of your bones
tell me who i am