piggy ribs

sometimes when i’m pulling my hair up, i miss a piece & instead of restarting the process & being more diligent in the sweeping of strands off my neck, i simply yank the loose thread just to save myself the time. i take the easy way out even when it hurts. i’d like to be a slower person, someone who isn’t constantly racing against a clock that barely exists yet ticks so loudly, it’s like the second hands are dancing in my teeth. i’d like to drip like honey, maple syrup trickling down the side of the pancake, into the crevices of the waffle. it’s morning again & i’m hungry again & no amount of breakfasts will satiate. i don’t know what i’m craving but i know it isn’t the calories i can’t help but slurp from the night sky, the pantry, the ribs of the pig. my skin feels dirty in ways i can’t ever scrub out but that’s how it is when someone wears your skin for you for so long & you finally return discovering the mud & feces they rolled in while you were away. i asked for this. i prayed for it. maybe god has no business answering prayers after all. i dreamt last night that i kissed my best friend & finally felt clean under his nails. but all i do is stain. pollute. & i cling to humanity like an angel, all eyes & wings & horror shows. i was never holy, not even doused in the anointed water, not even with jesus’s flesh melting on my tongue. christ almighty, i’m not a little girl anymore. christ almighty, when did that happen? because i still feel small, i still feel anthills & pigtails & chiclets. bazooka bubble gum & big league chew & baby spice & powdered sugar & i’m trying so hard to be soft. melted butter on my cheeks, round again after gaunt & haunted & cardiovascular. still haven’t learned my lesson, still don’t know what the lesson even is. bad teacher. naughty list. another demerit. demented & cemented in the piggy ribs covering my own beating heart which does nothing but give up if i stand up too quickly. my mommy & i both think we’re burdens. my sister thinks she’s only loved for her money. why is love so hard to accept even when it’s all we’ve ever known? why is girlhood a prison pretending to be a castle? masquerade ball. i licked the blarney stone. but cannot atone for my country, my birth, my skin, my genitalia. erasure is the easy way out but i won’t take it this time, just this once, to practice for when i need the muscle memory to support me & my blood rush to the head & my little piggy ribs & my scatterbrained humming. i will build a house of my bones & stitch it together with sinews pulled from the heart strings, harp strings—elephants are snoring in the distance & there is peace in this little hammock i have constructed in my tummy. let’s sleep.