Maki

I want to hold you.

Put you together like my favourite childhood puzzle. I would sort out all the colors first. Then, connect all the edge pieces and corners to give me a sense of hope that I can complete it.

Next, I would fill in the middle pieces while constantly looking at a picture of you for reassurance.

Reassurance that I am doing the right thing by putting you together at all.

But because you're a puzzle and I am bad at keeping up with tiny pieces.

I would lose the final puzzle piece.

It would feel like a failure.

Like losing a foot race by a nosedive.

And I hate losing.

I want to kiss you.

The gentle way a mother soothes their child when they fall down.

Sealing away all your pain into my lips.

But you prefer to stand up and brush yourself off.

I want to love you.

To board the rollercoaster I know I wouldn't be able to get off.

I would scream, laugh, smile, but I would close my eyes when we reach the very top for I am still afraid of falling.

But your fear of heights is greater than mine so you would never buy our tickets.

I need you.

For I am not really good at puzzles. And I cannot brush off the dirt and pain when I fall down. And I hate riding rollercoasters alone.

But right now I know you need me to do the latter.

I begged you not to touch me.

Your fingertips ignited signal fires.

But the smoke did not alarm passing planes.

As a little girl, she was terrified of the dark.

But, with maturity came the naiveness that the darkness was not to be feared.

One day she convinced herself that she no longer needed night lights.

Every night since then, each time she sees her reflection, a feature disappears.

Tonight, looking in the mirror, no longer can she recognise any part of herself.

She searches within her eyes but there is no sign of who she once was.

No peace, no chaos.

No hope, no despondency.

This infuriates her.

As if the mirror is holding the real her hostage, she claws and claws at the glass attempting to free the captive.

To no prevail, with bloody hands, she looks away and lets out a blood curdling scream.

The mirror shatters.

Victory.

Remaining in the frame, she looks up to a mosaic of herself.

A thousand pieces of glass scatter the image of the lost girl into a more recognisable state.

Satisfied, she mends her injured hands and climbs into bed.

After all the insanity, I awake to the sound of his breathing.

I watch his chest go

up up

down down.

Fascinated, I press my ear against his warm skin and listen to his heartbeat.

As I trace my fingers along his chest, I reminisce the day our hearts became one.

Before the merging, our hearts would violently race for one another.

They yearned in pain to be united.

My voice would send his heart into a frenzy.

His conductive touch ignited fires within me.

The day our hearts collided the earth stood still.

Birds stopped flying.

The wind ceased its blowing.

The sun's rays did not burn as bright.

Yet, the fierce electricity of our heartbeats synchronizing could be felt for miles away.

We could hear the gods above sing "Hallelujah" as our aching stopped and the feeling of love began.

As I pull my fingers away from his bare chest, he awakes and pulls me closer.

His comfort is sweeter than any cookie.

His love is greater than any gift.

Family festivities always end with me seeking refuge in the solidarity of my closet.

Overstimulated.

Why must I be part of this charade every year?

"Oh, look how big you've gotten!"

He says as he embraces me.

I've been the same size since I was 12.

My painted on smile quickly turns into a frown.

His hands begin wandering as if looking for winning lottery numbers on my body.

"You're all woman now."

I nod and back away from his arms.

His scent of stale tobacco mixed with alcohol lingers on my skin.

I snap the rubber band on my wrist to keep myself from having an episode in front of my "family".

As soon as I'm away from the barricade of unfamiliar but too familiar hands, my mission becomes to find the wine coolers.

It doesn't take me long to find my treasure.

On this holiday, if you're not drinking you're a humbug.

Ignoring the warning label on the bottle, I swallow a Xanax with the cooler.

I wish the last curtain call would come already.

This mask is suffocating.

I can hear "Its The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" play as I enter the safety of my closet.

The mocking lyrics are almost funny.

Ever since I started puberty, I have struggled with body positivity and eating.

A touchy subject.

A few weeks ago, I went to my doctor to get my anxiety meds refilled.

However, she decided to make the entire appointment about my weight.

I sat in silence trying to not to cry.

She said I gained too much over the course of this year.

In case you're wondering, 10 pounds is too much.

Of course, I noticed the weight gain. I am known for my intense self examinations.

Yet, I thought this weight gain made me look more like a woman. Full figure. I adored my body.

My boyfriend agreed.

I am healthy. A pescatarian. I exercise. No life altering conditions.

Just 10 pounds from taking birth control.

By the end of the appointment, my doctor took me off the pill and preceded to give me a pregnancy test because I Iooked "pudgy".

Needless to say, I changed my doctor and tried to forget the appointment.

Unsuccessful, I started skipping lunch and wearing looser, black clothing to appear skinnier.

Needing some retail therapy, I decided to go shopping with my best friend. She is society's idea of beautiful. Tiny. Skinny.

My best friend wanted to buy matching sweaters for a cute holiday picture.

Sadly, we could not find my size.

We decided against the sweaters. I frowned.

She told me I'm beautiful just the way I am.

But I could only hear the word "skinny".

We continued to shop but I could no longer enjoy myself.

Instead, I obsessed over the sizes on clothing tags.

Slim. Petite. Small. Xtra Small. Tiny.

Taunting.

When did "1/2" even become a size?

Half a person.

I relapse.

Counting calories. Choosing water instead of food.

Yet again, I have been persuaded to believe that the formula to increasing my self worth lies within the numbers of the nutritional facts label.

The thought of being tiny, skinnier consumes me.

He tells me I am perfect the way I am. He says he prefers thick girls.

I force a smile.

Yesterday, I put up my miniature Christmas tree.

Trimmed it with beautiful, tiny tinsel.

Beautiful.