written october 2016
he makes me thirsty, desperate for growth. all I want is to be there beside him.
but he told me once he loves tiny women, small like birds, with delicate bones and fingers — the things I find beautiful, the things I will never be. I was born into a trap: a cage of flesh built a bad way, crooked and thick, short, wide, soft. a human sausage, a turkey leg, a flank steak with extra flanks. mm, meaty. this one bleeds. built backwards, everything fragile went inside. the big tough parts moved out. protect and serve. a body to beat back a life that attacks head-on, would take me in cold blood if it could. I am war-torn, scarred, uneven. I am no little bird, though I see them and I love their feathers and their feet and their songs, and I envy so their ability to fly.