the grass plots of spring

nothing’s quite filled the hole in my soul
like sitting out on our blankets in the warm, damp grass.
talking and laughing and lying on our stomachs and our words’.
the simple magic of adolescence.
i need to find inhabitable softness again.
the bliss of simplicity but the deafening crackling
of relational electricity.

reflecting on the teenage girl’s longing

the teenage girl’s adoration and idolization of a smaller body is multifaceted,
not simply a craving for physical ‘perfection’.
aging
the grieving of youth
of yourself
the sudden attention on you as you are transforming
uncomfortable alone, and now you are forced into a spotlight?
the smaller your body the less people can see you.
men will not leer and women will not sneer
and you can be comfortable in a shadow. behind.
you are the shadow of your present self.

your body is no longer your own.
it is the future of the population’s.
it is unfamiliar to the one person who has been with it constantly.
we are not comfortable with showing weakness.
it’s how we survive.
so we hide,
and how do we hide?
we hide in silence and in smallness.
our brains are not yet evolved enough to conceptualize our pain,
it is isolating and devastating but we must cover it.
we need control over something; nothing is ours.
physical appearance can be visibly altered by our actions,
ours alone.
we do not eat or we overeat or we overexercise or we rot.
we just want to be small.
we want to be little.

6/16/17

sometimes the deja vu is too much.

it’s intensity is terrifying
i have lived this life a thousand times over.
would cherry red make any difference?

it’s freezing and it stuns me but it’s not too much to bear.
all it takes is one moment of action.

i always dreamed and hoped for reincarnation.

maybe we are fixed. this is all we get.
the universe is on a loop.
right before it all got destroyed,
someone far larger fixed us.
and we are stuck. but we are safe.

those go hand in hand,
stuck, safe.
fear debilitates us as we lean into it.

6/9/17- coyotes

at my saddest they flanked me
protected me
safe.

at my most vulnerable they screamed
and warned me.
saviors.

skittish.

scrappy.

coyotes are not what they’re made out to be.

myths by us.

we are despicable and break what we touch.
coyotes are not what we say they are.

they will live and god i hope, we will die.