Eighteen Hundred Dollars

I want to uproot this life

each radial finger, dichotomous

corn-hair from the husk.

I want to pry coldhard fingers

off of it

want to unravel the cross-stitch and run.

Want to feel the road stretching herringbone-

it is what you’d recommend.

I fish bronchi of stream-water

catacombs,

out from under this sand.

Aspen-grove arms of entrapment

constrict and anchor me still

I am strong enough to unclasp them

wisteria clinging,

un-clinging,

ripping away from both heels.

 

 

 

 

I feel

suffocated.

I want to     save

myself.

Advertisements

more good, better

Why are you insecure about your body !?

A stranger on the internet asks,

His hands,

clutching his crotch

as he seeks stories of flesh in the cartoon breasts of my

avatar.

He’s trying so hard to get off.

It’s possible to have a cornerstone

Which you didn’t build yourself.

or maybe you did,

Not sure where it came from,

Sure what you did

didn’t help.

 

I’m laying on the couch

In some shorts

In the living room with my parents:

My step-dad says “when did your thigh get so big?”

(Size doesn’t matter unless a man’s the one looking,)

He has a grin on his face.

You used to be so skinny-minny;

I withdraw

for the rest of the day.

 

This week I looked in the mirror

And I said “I love you” to my face.

It felt amazing,

Like rolling, movement

it felt a lot like change.

 

In five years I want to

look in the mirror

And remember when I only saw hate.

I want to meet my eyes and

tell that reflection:

I used to be

 

a lot of things.