No one has ever convinced me I look better with the lights on.
There are moments from my childhood I would never erase-
picking apples so heavy they felt like the round curves of someone
else’s body, my grandfather sneaking smokes in the backyard
as the rain came in before stepping back inside with muddy soles,
the way I made shadow caves beneath the covers
and hid under the darkness that allowed me to stay beautiful.
The first relationship failed after every hookup had to take place in the dark
and my body was touched like spoiling fruit too ugly
to be seen under white light, the second one after
he wouldn’t even kiss me at night in the backyard
because the fireflies were still glowing around our faces.
I want a body that men aren’t ashamed to see
like jumping out a window and turning into a bird on the way down.
I want my blood to sing beneath layers of fat
like a drowning siren.
I want to be so full of light that they’ll forget
where they buried the darkness.