Where She Started

Like when your mother opens your bedroom door without knocking.

Abrasive.

But safe and calm and yours.

Sometimes my body feels like home.

Other times it doesn’t.

Sometimes my body feels like trying to pick up broken glass on the hardwood floor with bare feet.

One clumsy step and you’re prying shards of hurt out of your feet for the next few minutes

Maybe it takes hours.

When my body feels like home it feels like getting in bed with you.

Like long days

The good kind

With your hands tied around mine.

Sometimes my body feels more like the dryer in my old house.

It smells like burning

And the clothes never come out dry.

In all my above and below.

I started writing about you almost 5 years ago

And between the

one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-twenty-five

Days it has taken me to learn to love you

You have kissed your hard and soft love

In the crook of my elbows and the back of my knees.

You have become an alliteration in the alphabet of my dictionary heart.

Thank you

Women’s March | Washington D.C.

Women’s March | Washington D.C.