Between the lines on a grocery list, nestled somewhere after Lysol but before arugula, is all the tiny ways you live your life. Your idiosyncrasies from how you clean the … Continue reading Mundane Intimacy
I worry that I only share my midnights with you. In the cathartic release of prose, have I only ever given you nightfall? Because there are daybreaks. Moments crescenting like … Continue reading On the Good Days
Feet raging against the floor,
Hips commanding the music–
You should see me when I’m dancing.
You should see me when all the forces of nature I am awake.
You should see me when I make spectators of every one of my demons,
The inertia of my turns pinning them against the wall.
Bodies like this aren’t celebrated by cameras,
Are hidden in the spines of glossy magazines.
I am too much woman for such a small world.
My jiggly thighs,
Ones so ravenous they swallow my shorts.
I refuse to ruin my groove by pulling them down.
Too many years,
Too many songs,
Too many dancefloors, I wasted my joy in hiding.
My energy belonged to my starvation, my purging, my insecurities.
You should see me on the dancefloor.
That’s where you see my recovery–
The softness of my body is a symphony in motion.
The percussion of my feet against the floor rivals any drumline.
Every song is my song when I’m not starving.
And my smile, my energy,
All of it,
exclaims, “How lucky am I to have lived through everything to be this?”