There is a woman at home. There is a woman who couldn’t give a fuck about a flattering pose. There is a woman without frills. There is a woman without fear. There is a woman at home.
round and round, I go. I roll. when alone. I take up space easy, like summer. I spin. I sail. my body moves free of expectation. free of shame, my body moves. my body moves. my body moves.
I’m afraid to do a love poem.
I’m afraid to do a love poem for fear of memorializing
any of the boys who have moaned my name
with their hands in their pockets.
Built me into monument,
and then never visited.
I’m afraid the loneliness might break free. Again.
As you can see, it has already eaten me alive.
How I have eaten and eaten...
I’ve got this magic trick I do where I double in size...
just to fill the empty space in my bed.
& im afraid. I’m hiding. I mean- I’m afraid
I might be hiding from love. Or- I’m afraid of love,
so I’m hiding. Im afraid love won’t want me
once they find me here. In the flesh.
Here hiding in all this flesh.
I’m afraid to do a love poem,
for fear of being faced with
just how little
I actually have... to fill it with.