I see this little girl
from the window
Wild arms in the air,
And wild hair
She jumps
On the trampoline
She jumps
In somersaults
She jumps
The skipping rope
And I say to myself-
She doesn’t need to
Jump out of her skin
When I sat down though
I couldn’t tell
Which was skin
And which was pain
When I sat down
I could hardly breathe
I thought I would burst
From the insidious tightening
of what felt like borrowed clothing
“Where did I get it?”
I kept racking my brain
But couldn’t recall a thing
I guess there wasn’t sufficient oxygen reaching my brain
The belt and the cuff cutting into my skin
The fabric…so loose at the bosom
My heartbeat muffled, beneath all the layers and veils
And in the perfect stillness
of sitting by the window
There was a war
Between cloth and skin
(And skin and me?)
It got to a point
of such constriction
That the edges of the fabric
Pushed into my body
And my body in survival
Pushed back
I can prove it, if needed
In a court of law–
It was self-defense
When taking a breath
Means pushing back
When simply being
Means pushing back
When gasping for air as you drown
Pushes the fabric back out
Small breath
Big breath
Held Breath
Exhaled Breath
Fabric cutting like ropes into skin
Pushed back
Pushed back
Pushed back
And snap!
It was either going to be it or me
And now I look down
Which one is it?
The strings have snapped
And the garment- having become too small
Strangely does not hold on to me anymore
It just sort of falls around me
Like a falling curtain
And so finally light comes in
And I see what I had sensed
That I am bigger
I will bathe in it
And wear it around me, this light
And though it is a shame to be naked
(Remind me again- why exactly?)
I will choose this over borrowed clothing
I walk
And this time
with each step
Skin falls by
And a new one shines
“Jumping out of my skin,”
I keep saying
Now with a smile
Every step feels like
A hop on the little girl’s skipping rope
I’m walking
Jumping out of my skin
Walking into my skin
Just bigger
Featured Image: pixabay.com
