grieving for the living

i noticed how soft my feet used to be,

when i noticed how rough they were becoming–

is this when i have to start taking care of myself?

my toes squish together

a little more than they used to

in my size six shoes.

i noticed how small i used to be,

when i noticed the clothes i outgrew

the privilege of not paying attention to what you look like

is one that even the most privileged of humans can’t attain.

instead, it is afforded to the ducks at the pond

who dive headfirst into the water,

to my cat sunbathing on the windowsill,

until i stop to take a picture

claiming their image—

the question then becomes:

Who Owns Mine?

to be naked is to be intimate,

but what if no one else is around?

i avoid pointing my gaze downwards at all i have to offer.

if less is more,

i used to have more to give

they’ve placed expiry dates on women

like milk at the supermarket:

sweet and refreshing for seven days

or, in our case, seventeen years!

till we spoil and smell and circle the drain

begging for a comeback in tears

but as my body grows,

so does my mind.

it fills every room from wall to wall

like vines of ivy—

possessing eternal life.

loyal to my roots

as i venture out

inch by inch,

without warning

haunting the places

they told me i had to stay small to fit

naivety is a virtue to those who want to hurt you

but now my feet have been more places than most will know.

stepping on glass, as i travel back,

the skin heals thicker, but now they’ve learned

i can moisturize each night, but there’s no stopping what’s next

in a moment i am free, i am doing my best

to never be what i once was–

but hoping i’ll grow