Bodybetter

When you’re tired, you sound like
sex - smooth and sultry,
drunk and dreamy.
It has been two days since we last
spoke, but your voice is still
tangling in my hair and dripping
from my collarbones.
When you told me that my
body was beautiful, it felt like
defeating an enemy, like
winning a war that I had been waging
against myself for
longer than I would like to admit.

For years,
men have been struggling
to hold me,
to wrap their arms around
my sharp shoulder blades
and hip bones.
On the nights that loneliness
stung like needles, I contemplated
cracking myself open,
rib by rib,
and rearranging my bones
until my body could not
be confused for a weapon.

Darling, my jawline is jagged,
but I would love to let you trace
its rough outline, and if you want to
hold my fragile fingers
under the sheets,
all you have to do
is give me your hand.