i pull down my pants,
and then i pull down my skin,
and it seems as though there has been blood stains
so when i look down and greet each thigh,
i have begun to greet the floor
in thinking that they would laugh, when
i trim myself in the mirror,
make cutting motions and
to slice open my skin and everyone else
who says i am
not worth it
but my curves are warm when they hug me,
and i think
i see a girl hiding
between their folds, in the dark...
but in her own body.
so when people look at me, i've learned now
to put away my teeth, my hair,
my words of indignation,
turn into that tiny girl, where
i'm always safe, always small...
where i am crucified, but loved,
hungry, but not wanting,
but only for now.
my mom has always told me the story of two babies named love and wrestling... i am so so so proud of this poem