You look like a bird with that down on your wings,
pretty girl,
but you’re too weak to fly,
so what did you hollow out your bones for?
Happy, pretty girls
don’t burn holes
in their sharp, happy, pretty hips
to break free from the skin they’re in.
Strong, happy girls
don’t cry
when they realize there are calories in toothpaste.
Don’t punish the mouth that grants you your voice,
darling, this body of ours spans the universe.
Why did you ever think dead girls could fly?

Beautiful!
Glad you are writing again… and poetry!!!! YAY!
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