Maybe if I was Smaller

I want to be small

because the dust ruffles never covered

my shadows

and

my toes twinkled

under a sinking mattress

and my scent cried out

like pheromones

to predators

and hungry mothers

and

every night

my body paid the price

in shades of purple.

Maybe if I was smaller

I wouldn’t be prey.

I want to be skinny

because the doors weren’t thick enough

to keep out the rage

and the fleece was too small

to keep me safe

and my tear ducts too full

for dainty pillowcases

and muffled coughs

too loud

for closets

and hiding spaces.

Maybe if I was smaller I would’ve been safe.

And I want to be thin

so I can blend in with the wind

because nobody chases her

with umbrellas

or hunger

and

lust rolls her eyes

in disgust

at wooden floorboards

because they’re flat

and

at bedsheets made of Cotton

because they don’t crease

like flesh in puberty

and

even Mother said

maybe if I was thinner I

could’ve stayed pure.

I want to be untouchable

like skeletons

and death

like the stench of spoiled milk

and wilted flowers

and lung Cancer.

Maybe if I was made of bones

my skin wouldn’t know the taste of greed