I have always loved me better
in the dark.
Because from a young age, I was made to understand that my body was not made for hands to wander in the light.
That my body, like a favorite pillow, was best loved in the dead of night, lights off, because in the darkness my soft is acceptable.
I am not a size that is packaged nicely.
I am plus size floral print, because that’s what fashion thinks girls my size are. Plus sized floral print. Delicate, but never in the right way.
I am a size that is too loud.
I have been taught to love black,
Been taught that my body is best when covered, ankles to wrists in a color that was once reserved for those mourning losing what they loved.
I am better if covered like I am dealing with chemical reactions,
because other people are volatile, and after all if not built for pleasing others,
than what am I?
I have been conditioned to believe that softness is appreciated everywhere except where can be seen.
That my voice is meant to be soft,
my words,
my opinions,
But not my body.
I am wrong in the one way that I most desire validation
.
He tells me that I am right.
His favorite item of my clothing is a short pink dress that I never want to wear, because he tells me I am beautiful, and I am afraid that I am being lied to.
He pulls at sweater sleeves until they come off, and stares at my arms like they are something to be revered.
Tugs on pant legs until they meet the floor, tells me that I am all the right shapes, and I cry.
I have never been the right shape, as hard as I have tried.
I have always been too big of a circle, trying to shove myself into a smaller square,
I am the block a child can not fit into a different shaped slot,
I have never understood.
I am reminded that rivers cannot be contained, that banks are broken by their power, that man made dams cannot contain forces of nature.
I am a force of nature, he says.
He loves me better,
in the light.
