my first second love

i asked you what it was like
to be in love with two people at the same time

you said ‘it’s like growing a second pair of lungs’

it’s ironic because
sometimes there’s so much goodness in this i feel like i might suffocate

femme

I am not very interested in thin, white femininity.

I want to see pastel hair
on black and brown femmes,
luscious flowers
blooming from fat and disabled bodies,
bows and ruffles
worn by those of us who were told we would never
be pretty.

I want fatties
in knee-high socks,
dark skin dipped in lace and chiffon.

I want to see trans femme adornment celebrated,
held dear.

I want
for those of us who have been
denied softness
for so long
to find it in the femininity we reclaim.

persistence

my body is good:
it is fat and
it is round and
soft and strong at the same time

my body is bad:
it hurts

it carries every bad thing that ever happened to it
to the people it loves
on tense shoulders, down the length of its curved spine, radiating through thick fingers and wrists

my body persists.
it aches
but it also breathes

and isn’t that something?

golden child

what does it say about me that
as soon as something goes wrong
i scramble to come up with a list of reasons why
none of it is my fault

what does it say about me that
when it’s actually not my fault
the only person i blame is myself

flags

he was enamored with me so i made myself colorblind

(how can i see a red flag if i think it’s green?)

‘you’re incredible.’
‘i dreamt about you last night.’
‘i’ve never told anyone this, but…’

he spent hours between my thighs
but like a child swimming too far from shore
he didn’t quite know how to handle the sheer magnitude of me

he thought he was good at hiding his trepidation
his inexperience with fat bodies like mine

but then he wouldn’t hold my hand in public
(‘let’s just hang out at my place’)

and then it was ‘but you have a husband’

and then it was ‘i’ll text you next week’

and soon it was nothing at all