By Julia Sacco
I’ve always yearned to be thin and soft-spoken,
flowers blooming with each utterance from my gentle mouth.
To be delicate and sweet,
to be offered a sweater on a cold day.
To be the kind of girl who glides into clothing without having to check the size.
Not the loud, broad girl,
taking up too much space in a room with my thundering laugh and mountainous shoulders.
Sweating in the summertime, huffing and puffing in the heat, lacking any elegance.
I am but a fossil of beauty,
what was once there now encompassed in harsh rock and dirt.
Oh, how I miss my radiance.