6.17.2017

I will wear this vulnerability if you ask me to

I am not concerned about finding traces of it beneath my eyes in the morning

And days later

 

I’m not yet sure of how I want to grow

Which objective I want to direct my elongating stem and unfurling leaves towards

Can a flower bloom in a pressurized environment?

Does it enjoy the sunlight if it does?

 

I spent so much time wishing away the cold, but am finding the heat to be equally unbearable

I do not wish to plot my retreat

But I would like its facilitation

 

I still daydream about how it might feel to be ash

Advertisements

4.19.2017

This is not ego-driven

 

My waistline does not say vanity

It says you can experience the sweetness as long as it is the leftovers

Don’t indulge, but hold on to the goodness so that it is there

When you think you deserve it

Set constraints for your hunger cues – as if hunger is a battle, or a game to be won

 

And when you feel unsure

When your body is a shapeshifting mirage, projection of anxiety and dysphoria

Find your measuring tape

But don’t write anything down

Research scales, but do not buy them

 

You are recovered

 

Even when shrinking feels more like preservation than self-sacrifice

Even when you’re not sure of the difference

4.3.17

Insecurity

Of stature, positioning

Word choice and identity

 

There is no cosmetic modification, superficial alteration

Capable of providing relief

No respite from dysphoria

 

But embellish me with glittering distractions from inner turmoil

Paint me, contour my surfaces

Hide me below layers of adornment

 

I am trying to stay hidden

Underneath eyelash

Underneath straightened, curled, and brushed

Primed, powdered, set

Disguised

 

But beneath, I shift

And even when my movement is not seen, it is felt

Seismic energy creating quivering pretense

12.22.2016

Burnt gingerbread and cigarettes flavor the evening

Creating headaches and pinching nerves

Humming music that carries meaning for no one

Bitter dissonance

 

I feel the years resting in the hollow of my palm

Sensing the past where others read the future

Imagining what has been cradled, what has been let go

Sediment collecting in the creases of my fingers, in my fingertips

 

I will hold you regardless

Hoping that the grit does not abrade your surfaces

Because I do not have the energy for apologies

No time for explanations

 

I seek reconciliation

Of the the soul and flesh

Of the separate parts of me, currently boasting individuality

Though closeness to your body only draws me further

 

Finding myself in a realm of vivid dissociation

Dreams, memories, fantasies

Swimming and swirling in incomplete images, fragmented feeling

Detached

12.1.2016

Seams and plastic

Taught around my waist

Suffocating me

And it looks like bags under my eyes

And feels like floorboards on my cheek

Hot and cold all at once

There is not enough time in the day

Or clothing in my wardrobe

To hide satisfactorily

 

I am beautiful in the way broken glass is

Shards gleaming and sparkling in haphazard headlights

I am bruised and battered beneath the weight of my own fingertips

Like a peach, grasped by an ignorant child

 

I want to paint something beautiful but I do not want to be the canvas

Not tonight

Tonight I wish to be seen and loved as me, or not at all

Because I am running out of disguises

 

I remember entering the blackness on a dozen occasions

Without fear or hesitation

I am craving that escape

I long for the precipice of departure

But know this nausea will not take me there

3.2.2017

I wonder when it was that I began to retreat into myself

Folding, collapsing

Like oragami

 

To be more aesthetically pleasing

Palatable and unobtrusive

I molded myself to conform to the desires of my consumers

 

And then I decided not to

But ravaged gardens do not remerge overnight

Or even within the span of weeks, or months

 

Each blossom must learn of its safety

Must feel it is welcomed

Be allowed to reappear and then encouraged to flourish

 

Now

 

I am unfolding myself bit by bit

I am creased but not tattered

I am scared but alive

 

And I am relearning the meaning of ownership with every passing day