a few days ago
little brother, skype
“ooooh cristy, i can tell you’ve been working out
you’re starting to get some trap muscles.”
“huh? what’s that?” he can only see from my shoulders up…
“most people, yeah know if you don’t work out, the line from the neck goes straight to their shoulders. but other people, if you work out, you have these extra muscles rights here.”
he points them out on himself.
eduardo has taken working out seriously for seven years.
it is a compliment, i know.
after we hang up
i stare in the mirror
see the smooth, straight, fragile line is gone
tell myself not to cry
so much of me wants to stop.
tell myself i like capoeira
tell myself i like regaining flips
tell myself i want to be able to do all the amazing things i’ve watched the last two months
tell myself it is worth it
tell myself i was so dark souled
tell myself it sucked not being able to move
dreaming of food
counting calories in. my. sleep.
tell myself the boys who touched my collar bones and ribs
held my waist within their two hands
did not make me happy. made me worse at times.
tell myself the girls who checked me out
just hated me more
tell myself… what?
i am still regretting all the arm exercises
last monday. going to the class at all.
it makes. me so happy.
i can’t want to stop.
i want to stop.
my body image, with stages of
wanting to be iko
ballet basketball soccer
gymnastics volleyball track & field
throwing up and restricting
mother’s love of the hourglass
mexican macho household
braless hippie shakespeare camp
are the makings of a novel in themselves.
one page of the whole mess
if you could still think my body beautiful
with the pieces of meat tacked onto me
if i am not delicate.
if i am not weak.
you liked my body
i don’t want it to change away from that
i was beautiful to you
after hanging up with eddie
all i think of:
i wish i was weak
i lose to the mirror and i cry