from Transiversary

Wren Hanks

The further I get from being a woman waiting for T to melt my neck flesh already.

I know it’s rude to be this ugly because in second grade my teacher said It’s not over till the fat lady sings and a boy responded Sing, Jennifer, Sing to dole out the necessary punishment. Like how my classmates used my full name, mimicked me when I rocked back and forth (Jennifer, don’t be a freak / don’t cry down your fat cheeks), how rumor was I’d kissed another girl and this too made me worthless.

I dream a ghost called The Master belittles me in my too-small towel, but I’m never moved to shriek. I read liposuction forums, imagine my chin fat sucked through a blueberry-striped straw. In an alternate timeline, I go to high school naked but my body, recovered from dozens of surgeries, is fine, all fine.


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