I’ve always felt insecure
About my body,
Knowing
That if I’d start talking
About how I feel towards
The bones you could see,
And
The curves you could not,
You’d call me crazy.

I’ve learnt not to be frightened
Anymore.
I’ve learned to say,
“Look, being skinny isn’t always
So much fun either.”
I’ve learnt to be proud and
I am on my way
To love myself.

I’d like to think of
My body
As delicate.

As a form of beauty,

Like the leaves on trees,
Like the water running down in riverbanks,
Like the sunlight cracking through stormy clouds.

// a form of beauty – nautilus poetry

Eyes
reflect love and laughter, create a window for the world to view a beautiful soul, perceive so much light, see the vivid brightness of everything around
          but what I choose to focus on is how they barely function without corrective lenses, the color of the iris is too bland, and they allow too many tears to fall.

Hands
sweep away tears softly, give love the opportunity to be tangible, rest upon a friend's back to support, sweep across the ivory to make emotions audible
          but what I choose to focus on is how they shake when in social situations, the lack of length in the fingers, and the obvious absence of another hand to hold.

Legs
support my whole structure, provide transportation for adventures, serve as a resting place for his weary head, function each day without conscious effort
          but what I choose to focus on is how angry red stretch marks line the skin, the way my fat calves get stuck in jeans, when they fail to endure the miles to run.

I

My mother speaks with rumbling tongue
And whispering words
Her hips are mountains I yearn to reach each morning
Dawn’s rose fingers stretching
Across mother’s soil toned skin
Her eyes are seeds the flowers drop as I pass
Her wind pushing eyes to follow me
Always watching

I speak with trembling tongue
And whispering words
My hips are boulders stuck in wrong places
Paper fingers pushing
Against rock sturdy skin
My eyes are leaves scattering before you catch them
Body too much
Trying to shrink
Always hiding

She speaks with clear tongue
And frozen words
All hands fighting
For her pure snow skin
Her eyes are never ending blue sky and breeze
Reliable
Lovable
Never needing to be always

II

My mother’s mouth never closes
Never leaves room for another to open his
Her hair,
Is silk curtain draping to wood floor as she blooms
Mouth growing with each truth, a fairytale
Where everyone wants to save her
But she doesn’t need to be saved

So when the man at thrift store counter
Tells me I should know how to *******
I yearn to look to mother and sigh
Instead

My mouth never opens
Can’t bare white teeth
They look more like flags to you
My hair,
Is rope noose tightening to twisted throat as voice booms
Spine shrinking at each eerie smile, a nightmare
Where everyone wants to save me
But I don’t need to be saved

She is in line after me
Thrift store man gives her sweet smile
And the exchange has disintegrated into ashes

III

My mother has seen ashes
Should have birthed children into fire pit to save time
My mother will want to be ashes
She is the only allowed to say her name in vain
Once mother’s mouth is closed
No one else may open theirs
We will rebirth her
Into white sun
Rumbling oceans
Rolling mountains
Seeds of flowers so she can be carried by the wind
Always watching

I have seen ashes
****** black bodies tainting pure white snow
Felt my brother slip through fingers
Swam with him in ocean
I will want to be ashes
Because thrift store men with paper fingers may see my body and think
“****,
I should have made her mine
When her spine could bend with my touch
I could lift her from boulder hips
And find us a cave that she could close
And never move again”
Instead
I want to be scattered across leaves
Across mountains
Across seeds
Breathed into someone
A woman like me
My sister
Might inhale and

IV

Know that her hair is beautiful
As rope- or cotton- or silk
Tongue is necessary
As ocean, or earthquake
Hips don’t need to be a ******* mountain
For someone to stretch their fingers around her
Carefully
Lovingly
And I will apologize
Whilst floating throughout the world
And seeing nature’s wonders
For speaking in metaphor
When I saw nature’s wonders
Each morning when I kissed my mother
On her cheek
And looked in the mirror
At my eyes
And saw people
Saw beauty

P.S.

She wanted a funeral
One last chance to have people speak of her
She knew they would always say good things and give sweet smiles
And the exchange will disintegrate like ashes

To me, perfect is an opinion.
Nobody's perfect is the same.
But the tell me this,
why is "you're so perfect" a compliment?
Why does another person's perfect matter?

We wake up and strive for perfection.
But what happens when we get there?
Do we lose our motivation?
No, because we never get there...

Even when you think you've scaled your mountain,
all it takes is one insult,
to send you thundering down again.
Or does it?

What about body positivity?
Or not giving a **** anymore?
well I am not those people,
and my perfect is on the floor.

my body and i,
we do not always
get along.
our relationship,
like that of an old married couple.
an old married couple who got married a little too young,
too unprepared,
too wild.

a couple that's been together way too long,
so long that, now
we could not be with anyone else.
we don't know how to
and anyway, we have the same friends.

my body and i,
we fight a lot.
years upon years of arguments,
betrayals.
too many feelings have been hurt.
i'm not sure if there is even any trust left,
both equally as guilty as the other.


but there's still love there, somewhere,
deep down
and every now and again that goodness will appear,
hidden within the little things;
leaving meals out for each other,
tucking the other into bed after a long day
warm showers.
small moments of love

we stay together.