by Jasmine Janelle Royer
I remember puberty.
She was a foe at 11;
ripped open the seams
that held my shame
and let it loose;
ferocious and starving.
Red like wine
as it clawed its way
from my nethers to below
my thighs, stained flesh.
Followed by the widening
of my hips into canyons,
the fullness of my lips
left a plenty, for
my breasts were naught-
Was I a woman?
Just incomplete?
Null and void in womanhood?
Well, I only had
my mother’s figment,
my dad had taken
a metal bird to Jersey.
And so I was left
in the hands of
the stranger who
took over my body.
A foreign invader
with all of my skeletons.