dear oliver,
i would really say:
why are you visible?
all i ask for you is open
up your eyes, to lose the
stupid fat off your skin, to
shrink away into a speck of
dust, but no, dust is perceived
to be small, i do not need small,
i need tiny. i need a haunted apparition
seeking a form to just define my meaning
in this world; yet the question is, is there one? am i
an important human being? are you? i do not know,
all i do know is that i am too fat, looking into the mirror
all i can see is a roaring dragon, the stretch marks dripping
off my fingertips and thighs—where is the gap?
oh, wait, there isn’t a goddamn gap.
into this world, i can
only drown, my weight
is too much to bear on the
surface of this clear water—
this lightweight water. i am jealous
of the ocean, the sky, the girls who can
wear a dress and smile in the mirror; i am
jealous of the ones who aren’t afraid of wearing
shorts, exposing their thighs, their skin.
i am afraid of my own skin.
help me, collarbones, i am trapped.
trapped in a world, trapped in my body,
trapped—in me.
free me.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
