this body.

this body is broken
accessorized with scars
bruises
and these places i'd rather not notice
until i have to.

it's walked into the lion's den
and has sent you a postcard.
i think it arrived after sideways somersaulting through the rock garden
banging up places like
the space for your address
and my signature.

have i told you that when i cry now,
it burns.
it sinks into the place where i last saw you.
them.
the ones who dared to cast stones
at this body.
the ones whose words stuck
the way leaves stick to the gutter
after the rain.
clinging to my arms
and my thighs
and that place on my lower back that i hate.

i have become what you haven't said.

i am covered in mess.
and there has been no rain

here.

only the faint sound of thunder
and this body
breathing, still
beneath sheets
and my comfort quilt.

and every night, i wake up with songs in my head.
at 3 a.m., i yell at them to stop.
i need some peace.
especially then.
but they don't stop.
the lyrics just mix with my dreams.
- i am nothing without pretend. i know my faults. can't live with them. - 

do you want me to sing them?