As a health tonic,
My grandfather ate
Gold.
Atomic Number:
AU,
Is what he said to my her,
As she walked by in her server’s cocktail dress.
Metallic,
Like the sheen of his slick black hair and her long red nails.
Density:
19.3 g/cm^3 at celsius
20,
Is how old she was when they met.
Vanderwaals radius:
.
1
Year later,
44,
He’d be. And dead.
I will remember 28. I’ll remember that he delayed his trip to spend the week of my birthday with me…
Or at least that what’s it feels like. 2 years here, 2 years there, repeat. It seems like saying goodbye…
28 days old and she’s whole. She appears. Full. Magical. Dressed in satin black and diamonds. The others are star…
I used to say I write to bleed the pain out of me, which, albeit angst-y, was true and certainly…
I feel her bones in my bones. She’s always been there. I was born with the knowing. Her story has…
Part 1: The Bleed That rat-tat-tatting in her head. The melancholy won’t leave her alone. No matter what she does to…
I have this thing Where sometimes I’m fine Sometimes I know my path and I know what’s good for me.…
I pulled you from the depths of me. My mouth opened wide and groans of love pain love pain Came…
I used to be fat. I used to be disgusting. I used to have so much cellulite it actually hurt to see myself in swimsuits.I used to have a muffin top so big my jeans would leave a crease on my skin for hours after I took them off.I used to have thighs thick it was hard to even fathom they were mine. I had this sick desire to get rid of my legs all together—if only I could just rip them off.
The self-loathing was so rich that I used to dig my nails into those soft, cellulite-y thighs and scratch as deep as I could. I would bare my teeth and look in the mirror and scream (under my breath so my parents/roommates/people in the dressing room next to me wouldn’t hear), “You fat fuck. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”