My skin and bones have seen better days,
but I am not asking for your sympathy.
I block out the noise, still aware of the whispers.
Eyebrows creased like my stretch marks,
I want to forget what it's like to have a body.
Instead, see me for my spine
because although it is bent,
it is not broken.
It's just another thing to mend.
Cracked, twisted, and stepped on.
Justifying my hate with forgiveness,
my mirror is used to the repitition.
Finding solace in substances,
I was beautiful before the world told me different.
If only I would've seen that
before the harm was dealt.
Oh, to be faceless
in a room of familiar faces.

To the mom who can't afford nice makeup to cover the dark circles,
To the mom who can't afford to "fix" the ******* that now hang loose,
To the mom who can't afford to remove the belly that remains,
To the mom who can't afford to remove the wrinkles of worry from her face,

Your beauty is in the nights you've stayed awake holding a crying baby.
Your beauty is how your strength has been drained so a child may thrive.
Your beauty is shown in the belly split apart to grow a new life.
Your beauty is in your heart that yearns to protect your child.

Your glory is the brightest in your scars.

I sit by your side and I am faintly aware of how much noise I am making

I try to catch my breath without you hearing

I can feel the dirt and particles dance across my hands and I feel disgusting

I look at you, you are how life should be
You are clean without trying . Your body isn’t demanding of space.

This skin of mine is an ill fitting outfit and I want it off .

When someone calls me
beautiful

I never know how to
believe them.

A man I once loved told me he wished I “cared more about my body”
But I do care
I care for every lump and curve as much as I hate them
As much as he hated them

I remember yearning for puberty
A thing to make me tall
And thin
A biological fix for my
PROBLEMATIC BODY

Does he know the history?
The gain and loss
The bullies
The pushed-into-puddles
The nightmares

I despise the power of his lips
A lover disfigured
That’s the vibe
His words birthing a mantra of shame
And I’ll never outrun this skin

Thirty years later
And he’s pushing me into a lake
No principal to save me this time
No dry clothes

He left me years ago
Found a much thinner replacement for my side of the bed
It’s for the best
I tell myself as I drunkenly throw rocks at his window

“Don’t think
Just eat”
Is this just a game I play?
Three glasses of whiskey and a Postmate
Won’t chase the horror away

Momentary pleasure
(add guacamole)
Is that enough?
Will I ever be enough?

No
I am too much
Too much skin
Too much softness
Too many folds
Too much of me is filling up space
That’s what they tell me
I see the reflection and I hate all of this excess ME

“I wish you cared more about your body”

What is the remedy?
A perfect diet
A perfect exercise regimen
Pills
Sweat
Porcelain

Think before you speak on a body, sir
Because your words alone
Have the power to ignite a hell
Of
The
Utmost
Destruction

His venom is still pulsing through me
And I’m burning up
I want to escape
Crawl out from the water
Become pure wind

But how do I love me?
How do I allow myself to occupy space?
To stop hiding from every mirror, every glance at the ocean of my belly?

I don’t know
I’m not there yet
I am on an opposite shore consumed by self-hatred
Longing to set sail for somewhere

Somewhere I can cherish the secrets that these sacred ripples of flesh hide
Where my waistline is a treasure map of my wisdom
A place where his words have no power
Where I collapse into the sunset and set myself...
F
R
E
E

sores and aches decorate her body like
christmas lights and tinsel and mistletoe

a red light on her shoulder
green lighting up her stomach
and rudolf has no red nose
but red eyes

and rudolf hates himself
a lot

she is rudolf
the red eyed
reindeer

she cries snowflakes
and blankets the land
with pillars of ice and snow
made of tears

merry christmas

and by that i mean,
will someone ever cherish it
like i try to do.

That flesh’d vizard – does it decay,
So much alike the ******.
My mortal stature – emaciated –
Forthwith; it’s programmed.

Do those lines – like trenches deep –
Carve moats for tears to flow.
And do they flow – like rivers march
My countenance; fallowed.

To rejuvenate – vials and vials,
Ointments in plethora.
I rub and rub, till the vizard cracks
Lo! Restore my aura.

Pseudoscience, falsehoods galore –
A vice of fiscality.
Like a cyst, does it tremor,
Melting my vanity.

Visage – deep – a pick inside my soul.
Those flakes of ego crumb.
A mien so ******, yet so loved…
Can they not see how numb
                         I am.