Today

Thighs is a fat word

The i is dotted with cellulite

And the g curls around to cup my ass

 

My thighs have no gap

My thighs touch unless he is pushing them apart

Filling me with the only satisfaction that doesn’t taste like sugar

 

Thighs are biological

Necessary

Thighs are scientific

Like my method of consuming just enough calories to live

 

My mother has no thighs

My mother has legs

My mother has a handful of spinach and three almonds for lunch

 

My mothers legs are strangers

Neighbors separated by thin apartment walls

Her skin is like drywall, crumbling from years of neglect

 

My mother has wrist bones

Hollow, like a bird

My mother flies away

Leaves me choking on the exhaust

My head over a toilet bowl

 

My mother’s wedding ring slips off her finger

My mother arms tremble carrying the weight of her daughters

My mother turns heads

 

I do not have my mother’s legs

My thighs protest my genetics

But other sources scream louder

 

Bones clank together

Stomachs growl like thunder

Weight bangs heavily on the back of my skull

It screams

                  You are so much like your mother

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