I wish my bones were hollow


Found on Pinterest (no artist labeled)

A picture that I found on Pinterest that shows a scene I wish I could live.

Fog followed her breaths

that lurched from her trembling mouth

onto the creaky window close to death.


Like tracks in fresh snow

after the sun greets the night’s blessed gift,

the breath’s print against the window


was a reminder of her presence.

Her too big, too wide, too boisterous

self that shied away from adolescents


in her dim, dying room

home to a dim, dying girl

who can’t even bring a flower to bloom.


Perhaps the water is too salty—

she often whispers to the plant

when the window cannot hold all she


wished to hide—that not even the roots could hold on

to the instability the water carried,

percolating perfectly into the soil’s renaissance


as if to say that if she cannot have that era

no plant, no man, no friend or foe

is allowed to be aware of


the beauty of life, of all the colors and sounds,

of the smell of fresh bread in windowsills.

She wished to fit into the crowds,


to be so small that not even a fly would

have issues with her presence,

find her too annoying and obscured


by her inability to fit in their box.

Yet her breath against the darkening glass

kept her stomach, her head, her mind in knots


because its mere presence, its wide wingspan

was a reminder that her ribs were too much,

too big, too thick that everything they emit can


become just like her—

a curse she wouldn’t wish even on

the senate minority leader.