Work Text:
I am too big and too small and moving my legs feels like I’m not me. No body feels right I tried them all no face no name nothing to tame my shame. In my dreams I am too small trying to fight people too big but I’m thrown to the ground until my skin rips open and bleeds until my bones ache and my legs break. The people supposed to love me aren’t listening to me. Maybe love is something else. In bed I watch my feet move under the sheets and I wonder who is the me people keep saying they see. I am a mass of limbs a body without a face a name without a place. I am a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. In the street I hold my bones to make sure none of them falls or breaks or leaves my body when others can still see me. I hold my wrist between my fingers to make sure it stays mine until I get home. I hold my self together in limbs that keep trying to run away. In my house I close the doors to make sure nothing escapes. Nothing can stifle me if I stifle it first. My limbs run free to what they love: the kitchen the cold tiles the hard floor. In my room I stitch new limbs to old ones trying to pretend I look put together. I have never been good at sewing and know the stitches will loosen the next day but I’ve been told practice makes perfect. I want to be perfect. I’ll teach my limbs to be good too.