photographs

i remember the way my fathers eyes used to glaze 
over my skin like crusting porcelain 

& i went home teary eyed
looked into the bathroom
mirror for hours
searching for anything but the
off white tiles behind me
anything but biting translucency 
when enough men look at you 
like your bones are made of glass 
you start believing it
crushing them between your 
fingers as you smoke down the highway

and you can fill your body with gas 
until suffocation becomes your only perception of 
wholeness
but its hard to live a life made of smoke
hold a plate at the table
for a mouth only expending exhaust 
and it seems the heavier i love
the more i disappear into my own backgrounds
the more i squint
the grainier my skin becomes until it
flakes off entirely
and one day a boy will take your clothes off with
the lights on
hear the slow hum of your heartbeat remind you
that you are so much more than a
beautiful landscape 
more than mason jars brimmed
with lilacs, until he drops you off the kitchen counter
wake up wondering 
how to fill a body with a life so empty
and where all the flowers went

god it seems the heavier i love
the harder it is 
to find myself 
in my own photographs