The day I fell out of love with my body—

my capsule,

my shrine—

weakness gnawed away at the palms of my hands,

dissatisfaction consumed my waist,

and comfort withered away like the skin I picked at

day

and night.

Let the Rain Keep Falling

O birthplace rain     I take what I can from

your mouth,    delivering myself

             from spring seeds,

wetting my tongue

I tried on a mermaid dress the other day, and waddled two steps before stripping it off;

I saw how it snagged on my hips and clutched at my chest,

The cold gross floors

Stomp, stomp, stomp

Black tiny spaces

In shoes that stink

Im confined for hours upon hours

The rigid concrete tears holes in me

get lost in the bed sheets

What is a body but a cardboard box

smoothed over with wrapping paper?

A shiny exterior that beckons eager eyes,

and a sheen spiral of store-bought ribbon.

It wasn’t until I

could feel the wind

kissing my hand,

arm hanging out of

your old rusty van

that I realized that

I have a purpose

even if that purpose is purely

letting other people know

that sometimes