scooped out

my back’s been aching from lifting all that dead weight. i’ve been sleeping in the middle of the bed — to practice taking up space & because the hollowness of the right side has been too haunting, too mocking. once upon a time i slept on my couch to feel the backing pressed tightly against me, holding me while i dozed. that was during the days when my hips ripped through my flesh & my collarbones looked scooped out like one of baskin robbins 32 flavors & i pined for someone who didn’t want me. somewhere between health & a death wish, some things never change. more of me, less of me — there’s the same amount to chew on, to claw at, to burrow inside of. i look the same with the lights out, with your eyes closed, with your cum on my face. i can elevate, descend — my value does not change, it is absolute, whether negative or positive & yet i rip myself to shreds, i disintegrate, whittle away in hopes the ratio makes the bang worth the buck, the worth come from more than just the bang. but i only taste like cotton candy between the thighs & i am only beautiful in the dark playing ziploc bag, swiffer, hoover, dyson, shark. i’m like going to the cinema — all the magic fades when the lights come up & everywhere is somehow sticky & your belly feels puffed up & queasy & you regret the ticket price, jumbo popcorn with extra butter, your fingers greasy with the remnants of your shame. i’d offer to lick them clean for you but i’d only leave you more soiled. so you run to the bathroom to wash away the salty brine i tried so hard not to leave behind. sour skittles, gummy worms, i rip up your tongue but you can’t get enough — i’m just a guilty pleasure, i could never be enough. can’t leave you satiated, fulfill the pyramid, you need something more substantial. something beyond froot loops, & shortcake, & toffee caked up in your teeth. i get it, i do. i’ve been choking down cauliflower just for you. eating my veggies, calorie deficit, increase my value, make it all balanced. i’m trying to believe it’s all in my head, a narrative i constructed, just a story to be read. i want to trust that i am more than a chew toy, that i don’t just drain you & then annoy. but i’m so convinced of my worth, my tale — i etched it in the concrete corners of my splintered heart. i did us a disservice, accepting what i could — breadcrumbs & anthills & powdered sugar bits. i crafted my own cage, my own pool of jell-o — gelatinous & sticky & all encompassing. how could i swim out & how could you rescue me when i was so dead set on sinking into the goo? is it too late? if i rewrite now am i fraud? a cop out? a hack? is there a way i can take these last ten years back? do them again & do them right? rewire the worth, reshape the belief? undo the twisting, reform the flesh, pluck the splinters from my heart? unbecome who i became falling for the fibbing fingertips of those who never figured out how to spin the kaleidoscope? i could have made them bubble gum, i could have made them cockroach. yet here i am in the middle of the bed wondering if he misses me too.