Tomorrow, I will worry about the future.
But today, I wallow in the past.

Tomorrow, I will be 16 and trying to remember
if the derivative of arcsin is one over
square-root-of-one-minus-u-squared
or square-root-of-u-squared-minus-one.

you,
taught me how to hide my curls
in a cloak of shame.
told me I should cry every time my eyes
landed on the details carved into my brown face.
constantly reminded me I wasn’t in close enough proximity.

i watch jellyfish billow on the screen like souls floating across skies, their bells blooming as gracefully as bloodstains in bath water, and i reach through the pixels toward some form of salvation, some return that promises in the next life i’ll be something softer, something expansive, wounds

Decorating a Christmas tree, 
Lights cast taught.
Seeing beads of light – asymmetrical, imperfect.

Grease in my hair and oil on my face, 
Piercing uncleanliness.
But sharper is the ground leading from bed to shower.

I am melting butter

in AP Statistics

draped over the desk

warm dripping out of leaky sleeves

as I slide puddley down the hallway my mother screams,

 “Finally, some fat inside you!”

someone needs to pour out my sneakers

My reflection swallows round my eyes like twisted hair beads and pink oil

while the mirror leaks a frightening truth

that I go mad to.

I hold the wishing in my fingers

drenched in castor, tea tree, and peppermint

my scalp only blooms red

I.

If we could be quiet in the small spaces,

maybe they would make excuses for us.

Our bodies, forgiven only once in a while.

We look in the mirror, see dualities of ourselves

and ask them to break. I like the glass between us.

Bony fingers whipping, winding, wrinkling ‘cross my scalp

Heat near ears - don’t do it - yep, she’s scalded me

“Girl, don’t wail like that!” Popped with comb

Wince and whine, smile inside - aunties like this are rare

Too long we have forgotten

The story of breath in our lungs

Depending on who you ask

We started from clay, dust,

Half of a ribcage, the salt of the

Earth, the water of the sea;

The old gods.

My brain likes to run amuck.    

Some days it gets stuck on the same thought:

You are in love with someone and they do not love you.

You ate too much today and are now chubby, too chubby in fact to be loved by anybody.

Dear Body,

I’m sorry 

For all of the hate you're given

I know you're just trying to make a living

And go on with your life as it is

But every day you're seen in a mirror

And at that moment you’re seen clearer