you are a giant
for me to climb over
i would climb, but
my spirit's broken, see.
so i crawl instead
over your legs,
you don't even mind
that i claw at your skin
sneaking glances
at the giant within.
when i make it to your thigh
i'm parched, so dry,
scared i'll disintegrate
and float away.
i push on, to your pelvis.
i made a camp on your hipbone,
licking what moisture i could find there.
you didn't mind when i set up my tent
made of ash and birch bark
i fell asleep for hours, awoke
with new zest
i skipped up your spine
until i tripped and you split,
exposing the marrow that tasted like wine.
i patched you up as best i could
then embarrassed, hurried on.
i played hopscotch on your ribcage
and got stuck there for days
until i was scared you were bored
and would wish me away.
i spent time
rubbing your shoulders
with my footsteps
as if to soothe you, because
i couldn't hold you.
i took a brisk walk up your neck
then stopped to stare
at your ascending jawline.
i thought of taking a strip of your tongue
and hanging myself there
from your chin.
but that's when you moved-
picked me up
and stored me in your cheek
and i learnt to nestle between your teeth
and treat you not like a giant
but like my home.
though, you forced me
to stand in front of the mirror
and say 'i love you'
thirty times a day.
telling me what to do.
forcing me to tell me,
and not you.
