I always liked hip bones,
How they protrude from skin like knives,
From the age of six I wanted sharp hip bones to be mine.
I didn't know I liked the cut of ribs pulling skin,
Until my stomach sank as low as it did,
My skin pulled thin and gray,
Too tight for my bones,
Nothing to fill the empty space between them,
Just like me,
Empty,
Clean,
Cool, crisp, and white,
I looked like snow,
I felt like ice,
My thighs used to rub together,
I'd always feel too warm,
But ivory skin and brittle bones have caused my winter storm.
I did it all for hip bones,
No stomach under chest,
Just violent striking hip bones that jut out like all the rest.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the dark
PoetryTrigger warning. To be polite. These are poems I've written. In all honesty not the good ones. Or maybe they are. But they're not my print published ones. I'm not that brave. :)
