she said she could count out my worth like pennies

from the bottom of a purse,

that she could measure it in pencil shavings, in the numbers

written on my waist,

in the amount of hurt i felt

when i ran my lungs empty

 

she made me think love was a dress i had to fit into,

skin tight and taut across my legs.

she said i had to deserve it.

so i skinned and skinned and skinned

layers off so that i was raw and pink--

it stung but i was convinced a kiss would be

enough salve

 

she told me brains were something i could collect

in old peanut butter jars

floating in some sort of liquid;

tears, maybe?

sometimes a jar would slip and break and i would

cut my hand on the shards as i scooped up

the unwinding strands

 

she swore i was one piece short of perfect

i pulled out my teeth and tried to whittle them,

put in notches and curves so they would fit into the picture

she made for me.

but every time i filled a gap

i found another

now when i grin there is only emptiness

 

she set her rules:

i was only allowed to

listen to music from another room

i was only allowed to

see through tinted glasses

god forbid i feel anything directly

 

god forbid i fall and scrape my knee and bloody

my pretty pink dress or

be anything less than the best

 

keep your head up eyes straight don't

look over the edge,

mother gothel said

 

locked away,

i longed for the outdoors where

the air was cold and the gardens were sleepy

i sorely wished to have a hand entwined in mine.

 

but when i long for more,

for a mountain’s song, for an ocean’s breeze

i must remind myself

that i am the one who locked the door

and threw away the key

 

i am the one who told myself i could

not wear that swimsuit on a humid summer’s day

i am the one who kept my voice

trapped in the shower

i am the one who pushed and pinned and patched

until i was misshapen

i thought that happiness was perfection

 

but now i swear on dereliction

i sew it on my shirts like a badge,

took my dishonorable discharge and

failed my duties of

smart pretty happy perfect

 

because no one should have to be those things

all the time

because i deserve to let mascara run down my cheeks

and to feel my mind fizzle like TV static

because i shouldn’t be ashamed when i feel so soul achingly lonely

or afraid when i sing the wrong tune

 

because when i leap off the edge

i should be allowed to fall, and fall hard

spread my blood across my face and call myself

beauty and grace

 

i used to believe i would never settle into my bones, this temporary home

i’ll tell you the truth:

i’m still unpacking, still taping up pictures on my ribs

and finding places to set my collection of notebooks

(i think they would look nice stacked inside my spleen)

 

and when i watch myself move in the mirror,

i swear i’ve seen light ripple the same way.

when i hear myself speak

i’m sure the rains are jealous.

 

now i’ll cut off my hair and

leave the dead weight behind