Tuesday, October 11, 2016


the shorts were shorter then

and my chicken legs

stuck to the bus seats,

flesh spreading out

like shiny cutlets ready

to be dragged through flour.

“i’m fat,” I thought.

“you’re not,” mom said.

i started banging my head

against the bus windows

on the ride home, wanting pain
to prove i could take it. 

older now i no longer seek

to suffer and when i break

i know enough about looking

whole to fake it.

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