the air is getting colder and i can feel its hold on me.

some hear the wind's whispers and wonder of its language,

but i can hear it clearly,

softly:

you have waited long enough.

you are free now.

i keep forgetting how intensely i love.

i'm terribly sorry -

my affection must have spilled over

in the most unexpected and uncontrollable way possible -

out of my fumbling hands

and into your beautiful heart

they told me these were the best years of my life.

...these are the best?

but why do i have to be small
for them to notice i'm hurting?

dear body,

what is this mismatched mosaic
that you are in the mirror -
this fumbling jumble of flaws,
this frightening medley of faults -
this glitch,
this error,
this defect -

and what is this misplaced magic
that you are to all eyes but mine -
this unrecognized spectator road,
this coveted gift of commonplace -
this ordinary,
this regular,
this neutral -

what are you
when pictured with impartial perspective -
what are you
when glimpsed with glossed-over grace -
what are you
when there is nothing being done to you
besides being noticed?

these thoughts want you dead.

fight them.

my best friend's mother held me so tight
that i wondered how close i could get
to letting myself feel like a daughter