by Doriana Diaz
I am my freest self on Sunday mornings when my loving bed is damp with myself and whoever I chose to share my skin with. I wake up and my lips are still wet, I am not parched, I am full of lust and my day is open to pluck flowers from my body and rub my hands over the light. I can dance naked in front of the mirror, sucking a cigarette with a glass of wine in my hand, shouting my secrets out loud to myself.
“I don’t know if I love you anymore. I am still waiting for you to return all the pieces you took of me when you left all those months ago. I think your father ruined you and your mother the same way you have ruined me. Everything means everything. I have considered suicide many times. I want a child, now. even though I have no money, and if I brought a baby home to my mama she would look at me and cry.”