Content warning: negative body image of fat body
Some people in this crowd are onions of firecrackers and water balloons with relief and sour taste I return to.
They are so outcast, they are outcast from outcast, and their trauma becomes fingers wrapped around my neck and
3 am upchuck when I’m trying to sleep.
My skin is already damaged and damaging, so their words slide off like slime–
The kind that makes your fingers feel sticky and guilty days later
After all the scrubbing and panic.
Sometimes I have to shut the door on them
And accept alone.
Sometimes there are memories organized like pleats in skirts being almost perfect enough.
There is no space there, nor here, so I become invisible in a large, gluttonous frame,
Wishing the bulk would melt away.