Author: Mattie Grace Levy

From the rigid 

Rough beige, brown 

Of ripped nails on stubbed toes

Ashy feet on rugged heels

Using a finger a shade lighter than my face

I trace the line of my legs.

With feet that tap on, or offbeat 

That jump to reach 

That step closer to embrace.

I move up to my hips 

Hidden, or accentuated in tight jeans 

That cover the dark skin on my knees. 

I’ve had hands encircle them 

Lick them and look at them 

With like, love, or disdain.

I’ve moved them in vain 

In ways that make me feel sexy or 

Make people laugh. 

I’ve seen them in the mirror 

And how they fit or don’t fit 

With my breasts 

That I pushed out to look bigger 

Or suffocated to fit in 

Clothes that don’t fit.

I’ve rubbed my skin

As if the color was a stain 

Traced it to map where it came from 

Compared it to that of my loved ones.

My arms move up to feel my face 

Where I washed away dirt,

Popped pimples, and hated 

How instead of burning, 

It just blackens with the sun. 

Insta: @mattie_tvc15