HA HA HA
This is my victory, and my rectification
I get to smile and I get to laugh
in the face of the old me
The old me with the grooves of her spine, which she welcomed
and the joints jutting, which she craved
and the shameful stuffing and crying
which came with smudgy skies at dusk
too secret even for whispers and
pinky promises
this is my rejuvenation
and my twirling happiness
and this is my opportunity to feel again
skin against skin
and not cry
and this is my chance to clap my hand
on her shoulder
not to give her the delicate sympathy
she wants
but to say, in a throaty and utterly
human voice
and
because she let it happen
and every time she discovered a new ailment
she worshiped it
but illness should not be worshiped
chest pains should not be played up
as a shoddy salvation
they are mistakes and problems
to be rectified
so this is my rectification
and my chance to laugh
and ask her why?
I get to ask her, because I lived
Some squirming, breathing hope inside of me wouldn’t go along with it when I pushed myself out to sea, tied an anchor around my waist and jumped
Something in me fought for life again
That part that giggled at sensible portions two looong years ago
is the part that thrives, and is slowly
crawling back to the surface again
Stronger than any weakling who cowers
in the face of a calorie