I looked at her and she looked at me
And said, “Why do you carry these, honey bee?”
I’d collected them, unknowingly
Year after year

They were gifts from a curse
That spat from their mouths
Pain disguised in pain
Those stones became my house

Your calves, they’re so big
Your hair, it’s too long
Your skirt, it’s too short
Your eyebrows, they’re too thick
Your eyes, they’re so old
Why does she have hair under her arms?
Why does she wear makeup?
Why doesn’t she wear makeup?
Why did she paint her skin with a permanent marker?
She should show less skin
You should show more skin
You’re beautiful, only if….
You’re pretty, only when…

And these stones
They stayed with me
I didn’t even know that they lived with me
Disguised as a permanent gift for me
Until they weighed me down so heavily
I could not stand
Entropy

No more!
I said, breathlessly
As I looked at her flowered in empathy
With a fire that burned unrelentingly
Deep within

My skin
Speaks of stories so vast
And the essence of those can be found in my marks
And these choices, they’re mine and not yours
See these parts of myself are miracles, not flaws
I am not a child, I let my hair grow long
And my clothes represent the words to my song

So if you’ve come here to edit, control or delete
Or complain, or hiss, or share your critique
If you’re not here with me to hear what I sing
Then leave me be to spread my wings