So you think something

of me, my body, my clothes --


but do you know me?

strands of your hair linger
intertwined with my veins
cold, they were before
now warmth is all they feel

and even though your veins are gone
your temperature remains
my body refuses not to
bathe in your remains

yet, it still shivers
by even just the thought of cold
fearing that what once was gold
will all turn into mold

your veins
are all it yearns for
to it, time is so serene
too quiet to ignore

every blemish on your skin
every word once said
everything that happened since
every gesture, every breath
is one strand of hair
carefully sewn within
a body of despair

I thought that I was going to be swept off my feet,
having the wind knocked from my lungs,
feeling as enamored with you as I did almost ten years ago.

I was wearing that magenta color again, trying to be a version of myself from back then.

Spring and summer are not my seasons but **** when you reached out I knew I had to try.

I wanted to try.

I had reached a plateau of almost overcoming my self hatred and I wanted to be more confident, strong, dare I say appealing?

I felt as though I was at the edge of a cliff, a dangerous precipice:

What if it would be weird?
Really, it was more: what if he thinks I’m worse than who I was before?
Honestly, it was: what if he thinks I’m fat?

Worst comes to worst, I would just leave- vanish mysteriously without even saying goodbye.

When I saw you I felt so light, happy-
it was as if you were exactly the same.
I mean honestly you still looked so good.
I kept saying: “It’s like you haven’t changed at all”.

And you said: “I have been so worn down”,
And that shook me and made me really look at you differently.

You are such a humble person.
You are so interesting and insightful and talking with you makes me feel like I am meeting you again for the first time.

Seeing you again brought up so many feelings, but the strongest ones were that I wish I would have gotten to really know you back then instead of being obsessed with the idea of who you were. Or who you could have been to me.

I want to get to know you better, now that we both have grown into who we really are.

I’m proud of you.
You are proud of me.

Amazing what almost ten years can do.

I wanted to look to you like I was dancing
But the bugs on my bark weren't moving enough
I kept reaching skyward and praying for wind
     Never comes to a call, does it?
You could trace each fissure on my surface--why don'chya?--
     Find stories and runnels for flowing sap
Saw me off at the hip, maybe. See what jokes my rings have to tell

I'm tired of waiting for wind; I want to dance (I think?)

I wanted to look to you like I was thoughtful
So I sliced off a sheet of cyan and I robbed the sky
You called me "thief." ******' mean
     Always reaching for silver, aren't we?
Try to touch irises, press pupils. I've never been further than now
     Stories all end, so I'm told. But this one? Still going
Hacked apart, trying to show you my pieces. Chunks. Rough mince

So I stole again to pay the sky back. Ex nihilo, nihil fit
I can pour from empty, because I'm magic, baby!

I wanted to want to see you in Springtime
But we can't scrape Winter off our faces
     Sling me a flat stone that I can send spinning
Slapping across the water's surface
Did I hit the opposite bank? You could stitch together separate days
     if you only had the sinew and a proper needle
Blown apart by wind and explosive expecting. Chunks. Rough mince

I'm tired of waiting for wind. I'm tired of wanting to dance (I think?)
Not magic--well--not the kind that isn't bone and blood and skin
That's the sort of magic that doesn't exist.

If I never get to be as beautiful
as all the pretty girls around me,
at least let me be

the scattered breeze ruffling your skin,
the scattered wind carrying whispers from the mountains,
the scattered sunlight illuminating cracked walls.

If I never get to be as graceful
as all the eloquent girls around me,
at least let me be

scattered like desert sand
all over your landscape.
At least let me be

scattered like drops of water
coloring the morning leaves.

Scatter my ashes, aghast, into ocean water,
because—

if I am never pretty enough for you,
at least let me be...
at least let me be,

who I am in reality:
a scattered mosaic
with missing pieces....

Perch up here
so we can judge you,
analyse and season you
so to help you redefine you.

Let us make-up for the blemished you,
for the degrees of the damaged you
and so apply a brand-new
foundational layer to you.

We can enhance you
with a new shade of you,
we can sponge, brush and fill-in you,
conceal the less-than-perfect you.  

We can blush you,
highlight and contour you,
fade you and blend you
right into the crowd
of all our just-like-you’s.

We can make-up for the real you
and ensure no one ever gets a clue
as to what is the essence of the beauty
of the true you.

Just perch here
and let us re-make you.

She said to look away
From the body that made me

a little bit of violence goes a long way.
say no to your reflection,
watch it fall apart into scattered fragments.
all of them are still you, remember?
now they can be used as a concealed weapon.
if you choose to do so, aim at the heart,
for you're not a butcher, you're a sculptor,
and this shard isn't a knife, but a scalpel.
watch the lines disappear as you cut.
it's unlike you to worry about blood
as long as it doesn't stain your dress,
as long as you lose some parts
in the process,
getting rid of all the unwanted layers.
all of them used to be you, remember?
kept asleep by injections,
kept awake by the pain.
flaws don't have a say on the matter.
a little bit of violence goes a long way.