bones

It's in my bones 

they are worn,

and sore,

heavy,

and

exhausted

Decay

All the flowers in my room
are dead

I still find them beautiful
they remain on display

I am comforted by decay

Just Do It

Trying to get up the nerve
to go inside
and start working towards being
"the best me I can be"

it's scary,
I mean...

What if someone makes fun of me
for dropping weights
or making squeaks of effort
as I obviously struggle to do
things that should be easy?

and then...

What if I get fit
and thin
and I still don't like what I see in the mirror?

Sitting in the parking lot
between the gym and McD's...
just gathering strength to walk in...
this could take a while.

Poking

Poking
the bite marks...
awakening
the bruises
(physical impressions of memory,
of passion)
is more effective
than any
erotica

I wish I had more of them
an endless supply

but I must savor these
until a more
reliable source
can be found.

The Negative

The negative;
it is so hot in my room
I'm doing laundry in a sports bra
and shorts
and I'm still sweating

The positive;
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror,
I did not cringe and look away,
I stopped,
I stared,
and though it is not tight
or thin, or toned, or tanned
for the first time in...
I honestly don't know,
I realized

my body
is a nice body
it is soft,
smooth
silky and fair
and it curves so beautifully
in all the right places

I think
I like my body

The negative;
it still requires clothing,
and thus
I am doing laundry
in heat that is too much
for even as little as
a sports bra and shorts.

Looking in the Mirror

Looking in the mirror

she doesn't see her eyes,

like almonds, but with color

as deep and as rich hazelnut coffee,

but the shadows of exhaustion

that underline the windows to her soul

so symbolically.

She doesn't see the perfect lips,

small, innocent, soft,

and crowned with a perfect Cupid's bow,

she sees the inherited double-chin

which was not the first thing 

she hated about herself, but was 

the first thing that made her afraid

of becoming "The Fat Girl."

She doesn't see soft, porcelain skin

alive and electric

eager and adept at translating

and amplifying sensation,

she sees the dark little hairs

that marr the silk, 

making her want to tear at it

destroy it.

She doesn't see soft, delicate curves,

the perfect hourglass 

that made Marilyn an icon of womanhood,

she is distracted by the dimples in the skin

that disgust her.

She cannot see all the gorgeous that she is
she is blinded by all the ugly they pointed out.

Unfold

I feel
cramped
trapped within myself
waiting for someone to come along
with whom I can unfurl the chaos inside
and who will adore all my obnoxious impulses

and violent, harmless displays of affection
so that I can truly release all that I am

all that I've been before,
and be free,

be me.