It’s hard to love your body
when it’s the reason:
damage and transgressions.
to not want–
–your own skin off
with shining acrylic
nails, a coffin shape,
etched to kill.
Or make yourself unappealing—
to get so
averted eyes protect your dignity—
to get so thin
be seen. To be
that you disappear.
skip the thin
disappear all together.
You can’t violate the air,
Or the mist,
Or the wind.
So become the sky
like a race track to heaven—
on which God you
believe in. Perhaps
just the abyss.
A white nothingness for all
eternity. With so
a lot of nothing
When a song has the power to transport you
to a moment–A moment that brought you
so much joy–even though now it breaks your heart.
But even in the breaking,
there is peace that it once happened.
That simple contentment.
That simple joy.
That simple thankfulness.
That a moment could have existed at all.
And for that small second, you get to go back
and relive it again as if nothing has changed
As if all were right with the world again.
As if he still loved you.
As if you could turn over in bed and hold his hand
Or press your head into his shoulder
and smell his deodorant–degree for men.
Or smell the dust in his hair.
As if you could snooze the alarm
and sleep next to him just “five more minutes”
until those five minutes turn into an hour and suddenly
you’re late for class.
But who cares
When the entire world is right beside you.
But the song ends, and you lie in the middle
of the bed in the dark of your apartment.
So you start it over.
As if the feeling will last just a little longer.
As if the memory will come back as strong and alive.
The plucking guitar seduces your memories,
and back you go to the old apartment,
to the right side of the bed,
and to the sigh of relief
When you turn over
And he’s there.