By T. Grisdale
It chips away at the carved curves of your hips,
Makes your ribs so pronounced
I mistake them for the roots of trees.
Your hair is falling out in clumps,
And I’m trying to catch them,
Glue them back on your scalp,
But you can’t see.
You won’t see.
The body is a fortress,
Always on defense,
But it didn’t know how to protect itself from you.
Because you are a force.
A force of brute and unrelenting power.
If only you would use it to find the beauty in your corners and crevices,
And rolling hills of your belly,
Instead of breaking them down into nothing
But the rubble of a destroyed home.