day eleven: a haiku

day five: dressing room

i locked the door behind me and threw six pairs of size ten jeans onto the chair of the dressing room i hoped that somehow they would fit over the curves of my thighs and hips just enough that maybe i wouldn’t cry every time i looked into a mirror and want to be someone i am not, who i don’t see myself becoming i am told to love and embrace myself, but they only show me skinny girls embracing thigh gaps and tiny waists my own mother constantly asks me ‘should you eat that? i worry about your figure’ and i can no longer fit into those jeans so i wear the same three pairs of leggings and the same four dresses that don’t accentuate how big i think my ass is and i always wear a necklace or a scarf to cover and distract from the part of my stomach that hangs over my waistband and i’m back in the dressing room a sking again if this makes me look fat because it isn’t a joke to me anymore i think they all make me look fat and my mother still tells me that she’s ‘worr...

day nine: birdy

the sun sets early, the tractors pull in and pumpkins scatter doorsteps, cornstalks make a hiding place for squirrels and their predators while scarecrows with birds roosting atop their shoulders litter empty fields tiny paw prints dance through the snow chased by slightly larger ones, cardinals perch in evergreen trees and the rest of the animals lay buried cozy inside a cave waiting for longer days and warmer air. baby birds balance on blooming buds their mothers not far away, hunting for the worms who have come up to enjoy the rain and the frogs sitting on lily pads drift gently through thawing ponds crickets sing their cheerful tune at all hours of the day, while butterflies decorate the mild breeze, waltzing around the blush colored peonies, short lived and cherished, living barefoot in the grass.

My Year In Poems

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