Proverbs 23:27

It is a deep ditch,

The one I choose.

Plastered my body with lofty pebbles. 

Weight. 

I feel heavy. 

Someone’s staircase skewed with

Broken soled shoes looking for no repair. 

Leaning steps. 

Do they sigh when they let their shoulders down? 

No longer a younger sister. 

Outgrown is the trope,

They whisper to my hair. 

Familiar ties grappling the space below my hips. 

Pull tight,

Coat with butcher paper and remember the change. 

Chisel at the twine I tie with my clumsy tongue. 

There is a place before these outfitted pet names and

Fragile bones that necessitate adolescence.

Crocheted body and feigned virginity. 

I believed me to be my own,

Lucid petals, rusty words. 

Losing weight to the years I have exhibited through double-sided mirrors. 

Shallow,

Open-air awaiting flight. 

Tell me it’s not exhausting,

To man the shovel and

Congregate dirt above my brows.

Stacking sea stone to eye level,

Pray the water hold for when thirst brings you back,

That prickling form of comfort. 

I refuse to swallow this mud, 

Lest I lose breath.