#wandersome15

i bruise easily. pastel peach who held on for too long, ankle snared in the base root slender and grotesque i didn’t ask for stubbornness. still it comes easy like breathing my chest never feels as full as it does when my back is turned from yours still it’s not something I like about myself even with bursting lungs I always seem to hurt more than you do baby-blue-bird (bye-bye-black-bird) biting her own tongue in song they’re wrong the blood doesn’t taste sweet i don’t wrap my gums in the flavor (as much as I want to) i can’t tell where my fingertips end and yours begin on my skin which marks overlap and whose wounds took longest to heal (why is everything still a competition). i’ve lost my way in the dark trying to find answers in the orchard out-cry the wolves fruit carcasses littering the fields you can’t break chains without breaking wrists (i ache to be free of this).

I scream into the night with the intent of shattering.

rules: spell out your url using song titles

Growing up I was always the Tall One. Mom says I came out long and skinny and my limbs never seem to hang right, sit right lay right alongside my body. My friends didn't like me when I wore high heels and I could never dance at parties with my weedy, bloated limbs hogging all the space between. All the women's magazines say I should love my body. Walk with long strides and a poised chin. Scrape the hunch out from under my neck. I know I should make confidence feel welcome in my bones fluff the pillows and serve herbal tea. But lately I'll sit on the couch and wish myself smaller. Tuck my knees beneath my collarbone so I might collapse and sink like a dead star through the cushions, surrender myself to the spaces between.