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.

Picking at my skin,
making me bleed,
scent of flesh,
melting with the rouge.

Stuffing up my chest,
with a knife to my skin,
playing doctor one-on-one,
******* in my breath.

Am I pretty enough?
Are my thoughts pure enough?
Am I desirable enough?
Obedient enough?

Overemotional,
heart too big for my body,
keeps leaking out.
It's better with my mouth shut.

I'll gloss my lips,
twisting up my insides,
I'll become all that you want,
until only a shell remains.

For the past several years
I have been writing break-up poetry,
About my body
How I am ready to be finally rid of it
To totally forget about it
Find a newer better one
How I wish I could have fixed it
How I tried,
How I’m trying to cut it out of my life
Starve it out of my garden, like a ****

I have been writing sad poetry about my body
About how it is dying
And dead
How it is broken
Had all the stuffing ripped out of it
Like a crackhead’s couch
Sitting out in the yard,
Free for the taking, but wet from the rain

And I have written this poetry for too long
I have spent too much time,
Breaking up with, feeling guilty over
And sad about
My body
And maybe that won’t change
Maybe I will always wish it to be different
But maybe I can learn to love it too
So maybe I should write for it some love poetry
For The way it stands effortless, a mechanical marvel in a stiff breeze
A wonder of motion, a running straining lifting machine
That does things,
Even the most sophisticated of machines, have yet to replicate
And how the pink mush between the ears
Lights the eyes like Christmas
And turns the body,
This body, this body that I hate, this body that I need
How it turns the body,
Into me