3
as though a breathing exercise could
cure me of my childhood
by Lukas Daliah Galvin
my feet are bare as
i draw my bruised
knees to my chest
on the bathroom counter
interrogating my reflection
waiting for a flicker of recognition
i am an excess of scar tissue
scabs on my knuckles
hysterical mascara tears
and gourmet vomit
all angles and skipped meals
playing the role of someone else
in a hand me down leather jacket
hollow eyes reflect my own
my body is foreign territory to me
i could not pick myself out of a crowd
men have always been drawn to me
how sugar brings bugs crawling
the way that beasts
smell fear
my mother blames the
fluttering of my eyelashes
as though she is not the one
who taught me to wield
my beauty like a weapon
taught me to lie down for
the Father
offering my petals like communion
wafers on sinner’s tongues
resent my own softness
how “no” never found its
way in to my vocabulary