It happens a lot.
You don’t deserve her.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
One called me “skinny girl
With the red hair,” and
I felt proud
To be defined by my fire
And my lack of matter –
My lack of matter –
My lack of space –
I am what I am
Not, Continue reading “puppet;”
And when I’m in a tub of my own
Vanilla-scented filth, hugging
My thighs & scraping my knees
With my teeth – I am happy.
When I am biting at my flesh,
Feeling my spine stretch
Like a mountain – when I am
Bone and war, when gravity
Pulls my nose towards the water,
And I am a threshold between
Microclimate – hot & cold bumps of real-life skin –
When nothing matters,
When the rolls of flesh don’t matter,
The prickle-hairs don’t matter,
The goosebumps, the blotches of red and white –
I am a mountain wrapped round my thighs,
And I love my body.
And I want no one
To share this moment with me.
Is not always the sound
Of a door closing.
It’s the releasing of
What you were holding.
Sadness to the point of incoherency.
Sadness to the point of physiological degrade,
The point of “Where am I, why am I,
I don’t want to be.” I don’t want to be.
To the point of stopping and starting,
In the middle of thoughts and words
And Continue reading “degrade”
Bloaty is a strong, independent whale who don’t need no man.