I’m not particularly tall but I have the
legs of someone who would be. Sometimes I feel like I don’t
belong in my own body and I stare down at it awkwardly sharing a
bed with me like it’s a stranger I brought home with me for
the night.
My hips and rib cage are so closely placed together that at times
when I bend certain ways they scrape and collapse into one
another — a sickening feeling that makes me frantically
pull at the skin of my wrists until the pain subsides.
The voice in my head reminds me of summer and it never matches
the wintry voice that comes out of my mouth. My eyes don’t
look the same — one is completely brown, the other has a
harsh yellowish crescent shape in the iris like something tried
to cut its way out.
I feel like scattered dandelion wishes that gathered on the soles
of someone’s
shoes, a collection of mix and match parts from people I’ll
never know and people I never want to know how to live
without.
