As the calathea

Much deeper than fat and hatred of skin It is loathing of the whole self And so in love and ink I reclaim That which should, but never truly felt as though it were Mine Always one step away just out of my grasp For what is the distance between a trot and a canter…

Starting small, with only known things

for Imogen   Before the polished sand of her mirror Freckled and pale Limbs and moles as she remembered   Temptation in dismantling her self a specimen for dissection A tally of flaws   How radical would it be to love instead? Were that even allowed Unsure, starting small with only known things Affirming feeling…

Ephemeral

Remember, intrusive thoughts, panic attacks, bouts of intense body dysmorphia, it’s all ephemeral. unwanted visitors. fleet away. the only truly perennial presence in my life is the fluffy periwinkle of my trusted friend, the echium. by Clementine Yost ©

for Sophia

Our goodbye hinged on time. You said you didn’t want to waste mine.   Wasted and confused Drunk from anger, not wine I can’t seem to fathom Why –   You were so effusive Beauty intellect mine.   You cared Or so you said – So you seemed   Why   Were you so effusive?…