they want me to write about my body
but what is there to say of these hands
my palms made of dirt
dust
how they crumble at your touch?
what is there to say of this chest
how is falls faster than the break of a wave
of my back that crawls like a mountain ridge
what of my throat
this voice
how borrowed it feels
how its never mine
what to say
of all these parts that never fit
i want to tell them
that this body is not worthy of these words
these lines that make me feel home
how this skin
never could
not nearly rough enough for my taste
not nearly rigid enough for my eye
how i wanted to be anything but curved and soft
as a child
how i wanted to hide all my weaknesses
turn them all to edges
and corners
how i wanted to be as sharp as an turn
what is to say of that
of a daughter who wanted to be anything but
and a mother
who was worthy enough to please
worthy enough of this discomfort
what is there to say
of any of it
is there a word
to make it wash away
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