People like to look at girls
Swathed in shining fabrics and shades of pink
And imagine they are weak
I have one thing to say to that
And it is
"*******"
As my polished nails curl into a fist that breaks your nose
And the thorns on my flower crown cut into the flesh of your throat

How astonishing
That something as small and feeble as the human heart
Encased in a cage of muscles and bones for its own safety
Can reach out across hundreds of miles
To touch another of its own kind
Give all it has to give
And continue beating

When she puts on her powder blue skirt
That drifts on the breeze like flower petals
She feels a little bit like Alice
Wandering but not quite lost through Wonderland
And if she hides her green eyes behind pink glasses
Cat eyes dark enough to hide where she's looking
She feels a little bit like Weetzie
Too strange for people to notice she's not quite beautiful
And if she wraps her arms in the woolen grey cardigan
Not quite long enough for her to nervously tug at the sleeves
She feels a little bit like Luna
Strong enough to be caring without getting hurt
She isn't quite sure how to be herself yet
So she takes bits and pieces of other girls
Stronger, lovelier, more confident than her
And sifts through them
Like racks of pretty dresses or lipstick colors or sunglasses
and tries to figure out who she really is.

I have spent many hours over the years
Staring sadly at pictures of girls with delicate pale skin
(Much like mine, but without stretchmarks or scars)
Who wore soft, flowing dress
And high cut shorts
And flower crowns
And lamented mentally the fact that I was not small
Or delicate or sprightly enough
To wear flowers crowns and pastel dresses and golden sandals
And I have spent many an hour soaking myself in the sadness
That who I feel like inside and how I feel I have to express myself
Because of my size, the width of my hips, the set of my shoulders
Were not things that matched
But I am trying my best to remember
That the bulge of my stomach
and the thickness of my thighs
And the stretch marks trailing over my skin
Do not make me unworthy
Of dressing delicately and femininely
And I am just as much allowed
To wear gauze and flower crowns
As the next girl

If I believed in god
And I thought it would fix me
I would get on my knees each day
And pray
But as it stands
The kind of worship I do on my knees
Would hardly be accepted as holy by any god I know.
It doesn't really matter to me
because the last time I believed in anything other than coincidence was so long ago I can't remember
And if I'm on my knees
I'd rather worship love than absolute power.

Sometimes I wonder if believing there was a reason
Would make me any better
If thinking someone made my father spew those venomous words
But at the end of the day I'd rather my father be responsible
Than an invisible man who lives in the clouds, too cowardly to show his face
To the people he is hurting each day in the name of faith.

Because why would you put your faith in something invisible
That takes away your loved ones and gives you cancer to challenge you
When you could put your faith in the childhood best friend who makes you laugh
Or the mother who helped you survive cancer and high school and abuse
Or the boyfriend who bandages your old wounds with soft words and whose fingers make you feel like flying?

God is intangible and thus can never die
but God is intangible and thus can never touch you
He will never hug you with the wrm arms of your best friend
Or stroke your hair with a mother's cool hands
Or kiss you warmly with a lover's lips.

So I will worship the way I want to
And the way I know how
With eyes and hands and lips and hearts
And mixed CDs and letters and messages sent in early twilight hours
Because why would I worship anything other than the people who have held and loved me as I find my way out of the dark?

Tell me you're empty all you want
That all that's inside you is a darkened void
I won't believe a word you say
Because I've seen you laying in the dark
Half asleep as you whispered in my ear
And I've seen you in the half light of early morning
Filled with the lightness of sleep

You can't be empty because you're overflowing
With the thoughts you can't find the words to voice
And with kindness and wit
And day dreams and patience and love

You always tell me how you love balance
And your favorite colors are black and white
You think you feel too little
Well I feel way too much
We can find away to work things out
If you let me be the yin to your yang

You're the first to say that everyone has their damage
I'm broken, you're empty
And to borrow your words, there's poetry in that
Because if you look close enough
I think you'll start to find
Your broken, jagged pieces fit perfectly in mine.

I wish some trace of myself could linger on you
When I'm not around
The way lipstick lingers, pink and soft, on a soda can
Even after it is thrown into the trash

I wish I could leave some mark on you
Indelible but unpainful
Like grafitti on a wall
I was here

When I ran my hands across your skin
I wish it smudged and stained us both
Like ink
Or graphite

When I trace your shape with my eyes
I wish it left tracks
trailing gently over your skin
Like veins, soft and purple

I can feel your hand in mine
But I cannot see the gentle dents of your fingers
Pressing into my palms
Like the void left in your pillow when you rise each morning

I remember the feeling of laying beside you
But I cannot see the lines of your sheets
Pressed into my skin
Trailing like ribbons