FUNHOUSE

I want to hear the wind flying through my bones,

through the rhombus-shaped crevices of the five

o'clock shadows beneath my arms and the sliver

of sunlight and pavement slipping through my legs like

silky wine at dusk. I do not want to sag and crinkle like

a week-old balloon, do not want pigeons cooing at me, pecking

at my elastic cheeks. It is in good fun to poke and prod at me,

but when I am alone and I feel cold despite the hot spotlight

burning through my skin like searing oil, is it a carnival? When I

look at the mirror and notice that it is tall and skinny like a latte

from a place I avoid, is it a carnival? It is when your eyes are made from the

same glass as funhouses. 

THE IN-BETWEEN GIRL

this is a fat-shaming poem.

this is a skinny-shaming poem.

this is a poem shaming all of the girls

who have been drafted into the war of

plus and petite. through spoken words

with lettered explosions rolling off their tongues

like atomic bombs of insults and self-solicitude.

gunshots firing back and forth,

bullets shrieking through the air

fat fat fat obesity

anorexia skinny skinny skinny

blaming it on anyone but themselves.

blaming it on catcalling boys

and stuck up sized zeroes

and insecure double d's.

these are for the girls who have

thigh gaps and fat rolls, voluptuous breasts

and envious waists. we are the girls

listening to both sides, hearing

them pick apart their bodies leaving them

with the aftermath of a blowout sale at victoria's secret.

their words are like saws

push pull push pull

hacking away at our self esteems

we are society's favorite prisoner,

forced to pick up the wreckage from last night's battle.

we fall on the line of both sides of pretty

and sofuckingugly, we are the thick berlin wall

the internet has avoided. this is for switzerland.

they don't know my weight balances on the scale

of fat and skinny and that i live on a tight

schedule of inconsistency, do not realize that

the way i view my body

my refuge,

my battleground,

is a day-to-day mystery

where tuesday is okay

but wednesday is filled with diet plans

and thursday is binge-eating with a

mirror by my side. some days my belly

protrudes like her hipbones or her bingo wings,

and other days they're thin like the self-esteem

level in a middle school gym class.

there are days when i'm too much of a

fatass to make food, so i sit there

and starve myself. i am the unsophisticated

girl who eats white rice with my gluttonous fingers

when a spoon is clearly in sight.

yes, i love inhaling pints of ben & jerry's,

and yes, i eat broccoli occasionally.

i am the girl who swims in larges

and shrinks in smalls

and cannot find a medium, and if i can,

i'm too mainstream, too basic.

in a world where individuality is celebrated

and bantered and debated, there's no way the

in-between girl can compare.

RUN, CHICKEN, RUN

when they say,

"run, chicken, run"

i know they're talking about you.

you are the meaty KFC thighs,

the inner flesh of the original recipe,

dipped in a light splattering of ketchup

once a month; and

some people like that.

not me. i like drumsticks.

you are peppered with

elongated polka dots and

faded coral spots

that shake the very foundation

of the way my reflection

appears in the light of my eyes.

you have the everlasting disease

of the chicken pox,

never leaving

just dwindling

with every passing day.

the way you expand

and contract, leave an

exclusive tunnel of light

through your towers when the

sirens of hunger resonate

through the neighborhood.

when you close it off,

block it from view, it ruffles

my feathers to the frustrating

point where i almost say,

"pluck you" and throw you the bird.

when they say "run, chicken, run"

i am filled to the brim with shame and

self-consciousness. but i know there's

no way i could do it without you.

A SPECKLED SACK

oh, thighs

you sack of potatoes

sometimes you mash

and feel all wiggly

and jiggly

with your silvery rice

speckled lines

and other times

i can see through you

could it be

is it the

infamous

thigh gap?

oh, thighs

i don't know how

i'd get around

without my

potatoes