I weigh 111.4 pounds.

I am 5’6, lanky,

And my hips are neither too wide

Nor too thin.

“You could be a model,” they say.

Although I really couldn’t.

“You’re lucky you’re a ballerina

Because you have the build,” they say.

Although I really don’t.

I look ideal, pristine, loved.

But that is my shell.

The turtle on my back.

Words of wonder at the size of my waist

Carry on their wings words of degradation at my temperament.

“Don’t be shy,” they say.

But why?

My shyness fills the spaces that others leave,

Soaking into the cracks that are my companions’ words.

I fill library books,

You fill silence.

The cloud above my head contains not words,

But dreams.

When you tell me not to be silent,

You tell me not to be me...