To The Man Who "Doesn't Like Body Hair"

To The Man Who "Doesn't Like Body Hair"

I am done with my body being a site for people-pleasing.

Shaving.
Losing weight.
Gaining weight.
Running to the far end of town.
Using my mouth to satisfy.
Using my ears to listen to empty, egoic words.

For all my life, my body has belonged just as much to others as to myself—just as much to society as to myself—and you will never know what that feels like: to have the most rudimentary evidence of your own existence belong to someone else…

Published on Elephant Journal. Read here.

Read More

poem: touch(love)

poem: touch(love)

i. collarbone
if i starve, will you love me better?
i’m so hungry all of the time.
no peanut butter, no milk, no pasta
i tiptoe on the scale like a ballerina and trace my collarbone in the mirror
i’m an archaeologist digging for love, but
i only find bone.

ii. lips
i’m so lonely. i get tired of performing.
i just want to escape for a while.
alcohol loosens my limbs and limbers my lips
gives me permission to scavenge for scraps of touch(love) 
beneath the naked moon
to eat greedily from the hands that feed me.
i’m so hungry all of the time.

Read More