A reflection on the fantasies of a fourteen-year-old girl.

By , Sharon, MA
I want to be elastic,
stretched over glass--
frail but commanding.
Bones,
signs of strength,
peek out,
only one
thin layer
protecting them.
I want to know what food
*can’t*
give you,
what my ribcage feels like.
I want to look like her,
like *her*.
You say “emaciated”
like it’s a bad thing.
You think muscles mean
Power?
Try bones.
That’s power.
That’s beauty.





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