getting ready

I am watching myself

in the mirror,


the way my body no

longer tenses when it

sees itself,


the way I’ve almost

begun to feel



but not quite feeling



“of course, baby”

I ask you if you think I am


and I hate every word before it

leaves my mouth.

I hate the way my body

speaks in insecurities,

the way your words are a

blanket I know I need.

“of course, baby”

I love this sentence just as

much as I hate it.

I hate my need for it,

my requirement of it for

safety within my own

goddamn body.

And so I hold my breath,

and bring my gaze to my own legs,

smiling slightly,


selfish heroism

I walk in to an empty house –
the first time in a long time that the space around me promises its vacancy.
This is hard to grasp hold of as lately any company feels empty.

I do the things I know to do but do them meaninglessly.
I scrub my body clean,
let the hot water sink in,
slip it into cleaner clothing.

Checkmarks on a checklist but nothing more than this.

And then it is time to dry my hair.
So I sit cross-legged in front of this pain inducing mirror –
the first time in a long time that I sit face to face with my own reflection.

This is when I feel it.

I feel the ache in my bones,
the stabbing in my chest,
the soreness of muscles that are tired from lifting the world onto them.

So I look into the eyes that stare back at me –
the pain in them much too hard to realize.
I look at her and whisper,

“You are strong.
You are beautiful.

Look at the things you’ve created,
the people you’ve loved,
the things you’ve done.

You are determined, a fighter –
growing beyond even the things you know of. 

You are magnificent

And I swore that in that moment she lifted her chin higher,
and thanked me.