Who taught me to suck in my stomach,
or my cheeks?
Who told me to stand with my legs apart
and my hips thrust back
to create the illusion of a gap
between my thighs?
Who made me believe that the most beautiful part of me
is my negative space?
But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.
Because I am not the type of person someone falls in love with.