Breaking, Gently

I’ve heard when you break a bone it grows back stronger,

But I’ve never broken any bones,

And I have a weak stomach.

My skin was built from butterfly wings,

Quick to tear with the lightest touch.

I bruise easily like a peach,

My mood rots quickly when left out.

I slept in this morning,

With my bruised skin and aching belly,

And wondered if someone more grateful should come and take my place.

Like maybe I’m just a stand-in for someone who deserves a healthy body and a full passport.

I have many reasons to be grateful,

I write them down.

It reads more like a list than a poem.

What would be enough?

Surely not me… I’m a half empty cup.

I could pretend to be secure,

But surely you can see in.

I roped up the moon in my dreams,

She said don’t look too closely,

I have craters, and markings, and my cycles have me constantly changing.

I looked at her anyway.

You are perfect.

She said, you are too.

Maybe it’s growing pains,

The way I’m being stretched out,

Or the mirror my lover holds up,

Memories of different kinds of love,

My tongue twists around what I mean,

I leave rooms before I can settle,

My reflection wavers like heat.

My stomach still hurts,

Maybe it’s my moon cycle, it hurts to change forms.

I cocoon myself in blankets, I always liked butterflies,

Falling into another slumber, I hope to wake up to see ultraviolet light.