Red Reclamation

You can look

I want you to see

this, want you to

witness the resurrection

of flesh that refused

the grave, its small,

hungry mouth, and

turned up in scarlet

to its own burial

There is nothing ask

left of the woman you

see, nothing either permission

or forgiveness, there is only

every grace this body has

been granted, only new

skin meeting the forbidden

kiss of open air, only give

when there is abundance

What you see is abundance.

And I know the world

doesn’t want it.

And I don't fucking care.

I don’t mind if

they want to call me

vanity, call me full of

everything including myself,

It doesn’t bother me when

I’m compared to the giant

beasts of the world

Tell me more about how

small you see yourself when

you look at me.

I can hold it.

I was built, brickhouse, for this.

But I will not do

it in the dark.

I will turn on ev-

ery light in this

room so I can show

off my red dress,

and my crooked eye-

liner, and the bare-

knuckle beating I

took from my own

shame for the audacity

to look so infuriatingly

good in them both

Every time I show up

in a new space, it’s a

game of chicken with

the world, it’s a dare to

anyone who followed all

the rules and still wears

their body like a bad suit

into every room, and me

such a large and willing

target to soak up the blood-red

rage they have for anyone

who refuses to play the game -

that’s the thing about

visibility, you’re bound

to be seen.

But I don’t care if you look.

If I am full of anything, it won’t

be hiding, won’t be burial, won’t be

accepting something just because it

was handed to me.

I meant to be here.

I meant to look this good.