But They Say I Will Not Make It
When you are fat (and I am fat)
the streets are full of soothsayers telling you how you will die.
They all seem so anxious for my heart
like it is an unattended package at the airport, my heart
so I move thru the world listening for my heart
like it must be a clock swallowed by a crocodile
No,
a canary that goes silent much too late
No,
They are certain it is going to attack, my heart
like a hungry bear on a camp ground
ripping a zipper down my chest,
cracking my sternum like a cheap tent pole
No, wait
I am not at all sorry for my size
so I must be a barge
which would make my heart a fish washed onto the deck
GaspingFloppingSlamming scales off of its body
like an angry beauty queen ripping sequins from a dress that didn’t sparkle enough to win
but that would make my heart a beauty queen who can’t walk in heels
No,
Wait
My heart is an hour glass filled with gunpowder
and at any moment some wild spark is gonna blow me sky high
and maybe this is why I love like I do
with teeth and swallow and song and snarl and water and sparkle and consequence.
Why I show up to your front door out of breath and full of dazzle like this is the last ballyhoo
and nothing can wait till the morning
Forgive me,
they keep telling me that my heart is not my heart
they keep telling me that I am dying
this might be our last chance.
Spoilage
Your sweetest love asks to borrow some silence
and as if on cue all of the forgotten hurts, preserved in previous canning seasons,
begin to erupt in the cellar.
Every lidded mouth full & pickled with insecurity gives over to the swell of rancid things
pushed into the dark for much too long
an exorcism of jarred ghosts,
an oozing display of fireworks coating the mud-damp walls in a layer of vinegary mistrust.
As you apologize for the noise and promise to keep this messy doubt from sullying the peace you’ve promised him
An especially potent wound rockets thru the floorboards trailing a comet of sour molasses & lands on your patient love’s lap-still whistling from the pressure.
Sleeping Giants
For Leo, For Myself, For Anyone who has ever been too big to truly be seen
There are so many stories that demand the giant must be felled
that the small are righteous and deserving of all they can take from the massive beast
that all the golden things are up for grabs
that the riches must’ve been ill gotten to begin with
You colossus
You behemoth
You titian
You who can shoulder the very earth
who are you to alter this narrative?
They’re already out here looking for ways to discredit regular survivors
You make it too easy
Your body is its own defamation
They’ll say you are too big to have been raped
That victim is not a shirt that comes in your size
They’ll laugh at the idea of you being overtaken
say you are too much mountain for anyone to move
They’ll say you have so much weight to place behind your No
say one flick of your massive wrist would’ve cbrought the whole thing to a stop
They’ll say that you must have wanted it
That in fact, you are a monster of wanting
Your mammoth body laid out as evidence
for the way it feasts so greedily on the space around it
They’ll say you stand a lighthouse of untruth in search of attention
a bitter leviathan,
and anyone who toppled you earned that conquering,
that they must be a knight, an Argonaut,
a future king coming for your severed head
Your truth sounds too much like thunder
Frightens the whole village
frightens them into taking up torches and pitchforks
a swarm to chase you to the edge of the cliff
a mob come to tether you to the earth to pluck out your eyes
for what they refuse to see
they’d sooner pry open your mouth for the gold fillings
than take your word
That you were but a sleeping giant
who was not awakened nor deemed worthy
for something golden as consent.
My Whiteness Hits on Me in a Bar
You’re welcome.
You hear me?
I said you’re welcome
for those eyes
like your mother’s
stolen sapphires
when you could’ve had your father’s mud puddles
You’re welcome
They make you look so innocent
So trusting
Don’t forget I got you that troubleless hair too
The same hair that got you a good job
or at least didn’t keep you from one
You really should be more grateful
Your skin is default nude
Default skin tone
No one assumes you are uneducated
I do that.
For you.
For Us.
All of us
This ruling race of us
Which is better than them
Which deserves more than them
Is it so hard to show a little gratitude?
It’s a compliment,
The way the cops won’t doubt you/ press your face into the dirt
The way bullets won’t hunt your light skin/your pink cheeks
The way I built this place a bomb shelter for your
Stop fighting for some part of you no one can see/wants to see
Stop fighting for people that don’t look like you
You got real lucky, girl
Don’t you feel lucky?
Don’t you love the way I’ve made all of this easy for you
You should show me how much you love it
Show me with those colored girl lips you ended up with
Kneel for me like you’re scrubbing a floor-I know you know how
That’s in your blood
I haven’t forgotten that you pass
maybe you forgot though
that I am the one who crowned you queen of the paper bag prom
but that can be our little secret
All you have to do is relax
and let it happen.
Femme Visibility
My queerness is not unlike a cat on a leash.
It’s awkward,
people don’t always understand why it’s happening
or how it works
but it’s not hurting anyone
so it goes mostly unbothered
The difference is that you can see a cat on a leash.
Mixed Girl
After Angel Nafis and Terrance Hayes
Mixed Girl, White Mother
Mixed Girl, Black Father
Yes, really
Mixed Girl, White Mother’s Hair
Mixed Girl, Black Father’s Lips
Mixed Girl patient while you pick and choose what’s ethnic enough/exotic enough
Mixed Girl sighs through tired jokes about how she only gets half of Martin Luther King Day off of work
Mixed Girl, White Mother’s Guilt
Mixed Girl, Black Father’s Survival
Mixed Girl, Survivor’s Guilt
Mixed Girl, Passing
Mixed Girl wonders if it’s called passing because something dies inside each time
Mixed Girl carries her blackness like Peter Pan’s shadow shot down and stitched desperately back to her heels
Mixed Girl also Fat
Yes, Fat
Fat, Mixed Girl, reconciled the word fat
Fat, Mixed Girl passes slowly, a heavy drop of water
Fat, Mixed Girl passes race but not weight limits
Fat, Mixed Girl sighs through tired jokes about Black Men loving fat white women
Fat, Mixed Girl living punchline
Fat, Mixed Girl also Queer
Yes, Really
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl’s Pronouns are She/Her/ Your Majesty
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl femme
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl triple threat invisible
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl double agents as Straight Shameful White Lady
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl sighs through tired jokes about greed as sexual orientation
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl admits to having only had relationships with cis-men
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl no less attracted to women tho
no less attracted to non-binary beauty tho
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl probably thinks you’re cute
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl probably wants to make out with you
Yes, you
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl is a Feminist
No shit.
Yes, Feminist
Feminist,
Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl is full body intersection
Feminist, Queer, Fat Mixed Girl has one common enemy
Feminist, Queer, Fat, Mixed Girl’s passing whiteness
passing straightness
passing weakness
makes her
a conceal carry revolt
Feminist, Queer, Fat Mixed Girl aims to gut the white supremacist patriarchy
and rouge her cheeks with his blood
Feminist, Queer, Fat Mixed Femme Girl knows he will never see her coming
Paradise
I promise,
I have tried every method the body zealots insist will make me worthy
the loathing
the withholding
the pain
the castigation
the flagellation
the suppression
the obey
obey
obey
and still
I am this feral landscape
an orchard of gluttonous fruit trees
and was cast from the paradise of my body by the shame Gods
banished from reveling in my own flourish
rolling hills
secret valleys
the tree trunk thighs
heavy sugar apple breasts.
I am sick for the springs I missed while exiled into my head
as though a country separate from fleshy hips
It cost me years of knowing my own clay
And now that I have clawed my way back into this Eden
I intend to bask
O’ I intent to feast.
Rachel Wiley got escorted off of a city bus this summer for nearly fighting a cat caller but she’s got that 31 Day bus pass so she just hopped on another one and made it home before the ice cream melted. She is a poet from Columbus, Ohio. Her work has previously been featured on Everyday Feminism, The Huffington Post, and Upworthy. She is the author of a full-length collection from Timber Mouse Publishing entitled, Fat Girl Finishing School. She is the co-founder and co-host of the monthly Columbus Queer Open Mic & Social Hour.
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