Sunday, August 22, 2010

Creep

When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye.
There I was, in the far booth, by the front window.
My back against the cheap wood panelling,
Bass throbbing through my back.
I wish I were special,
You're so fuckin' special.
Two strangers, beauty and the beast.
Across from me, entangled in flippant conversation.
The hunger flickering in his furrowed eye.
Her detached laughter dimly haloed around them.
I want a perfect body.
I want a perfect soul.
All these voices flying around me
In a furious blizzard
Intermingled with drunken curses and
Dizzying laughter.
She's running out.
She runs. Runs. Runs. Runs.

This feeling lapping at my lungs.
The fresh smoke and the obvious fact
That nobody knows me.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.


I don't belong here.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Scar

I stood before you with the fingers on the buttons
Slowly undoing what had been so rigidly done up
I wanted to show you something
That I don't show anyone.
I pulled apart the fabric, so
There.
You could see it.
I told you,
"Look.
"I need you now."
Instead you rolled up your own sleeves.
Showed me your scar.
Didn't even look at mine.
I've seen it before.
I've seen it before.
I know.
I've seen it before.
I felt scared. Alone.
I wanted to show you.
Something I don't show just anyone.
I reached out to you
From the bottom of this well and
When I caught hold of your hand,
You pulled me down into yours.
I...
I thought I meant something.
It's not me, is it?
It's your idea of me.
The velvet painting.
The life preserver.
The golden calf.
The bronze serpent.
The coat rack.
I doubt it was ever me.
Don't try now. Don't be my way out.
I wanted you to, but
You were too busy with you
To realize the cracks in my veneer.
You can't see this wound.
Never.
You had your chance.
I'm not opening the door
The veil
The space-time continuum
The way out.
You'll figure it out alone.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Negative 23

I stood in front of the mirror this morning. I was running a little late, and I never care what I wear, unless of course, it looks awful. I grabbed my favorite pair of shorts. From the Gap. Boyfriend cut. Some khaki-like material that are a light navy in color. I reached down to slide them on and didn't even unbutton them.

I stopped, with the shorts completely on, my fingers still pinching the waistband. I just stared. With my right hand I grabbed the front of the shorts, and pulled them forward, away from my torso. I looked down. There were the tops of my feet, visible through the leg holes.

I glanced back up in the mirror. Tendons in my neck that used to look thicker, more of the masculine variety, were now visibly pinched, sloping downward and seamlessly into my collarbones, which now had a visible dip appearing between them. I bent far to the right at my waist, allowing my left side to stretch out completely. With that exaggerated stance and the minimal sunlight, I saw vague shadows I'd never seen before. I ran my left thumb from my bra to my hip and felt something I'd never felt before. They were visible and tangible. Rib bones.

I straightened up, and tucked my chin down to my chest. My breathing wasn't hindered. With my head still mostly down, I lifted my eyes back to the mirror. The extra bit of flesh I was so used to dealing with under my chin wasn't there. I reached up to touch my face. Definition between jaw and cheekbone.

I decided.
I will never be the fat girl.
Never again.