Fat Girl Trenta-Sei

I don’t know what the stars mean. I don’t know
why I stand underneath the black and stare
up at the pinprick light. I want so much to glow
in the dark, for everyone to see me, a pair
of fat, white thighs blinking in the moonlight
like their own flashing bulbs. I no longer like

why I stand underneath the black and stare,
when I’m so lonely the whites of my eyes
brim hot with fire, and my dark-brown hair
explodes into a red waterfall. I don’t tell lies
like this so often. But a man once took
my body, held it near him, while I looked

up at the pinprick light. I wanted so much to glow
like a meteor shooting across the skyscape,
breasts bare, nipples two knotted pink bows,
and that man’s fingertips swirling my scraped
kneecaps, tender as the rain on my tongue.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve always wanted to bang

in the dark, for everyone to see me, a flare
of brown eyes searching the black all around
for signs of my body. Sometimes it scares
the trees, the insects battling the grass, bound
by the blades, like my body. I don’t remember
how the cuts feel anymore or how a pair

of fat, white thighs blinking in the moonlight
busted all the lamplight in the room. And, now
we’re in a room? Listen. Please touch my
body. That’s all I wanted to say. Grab the clouds
down from the sky and free them. I know
my breasts feel, in a lovely way, like light,

like their own flashing bulbs. I no longer like
that the sky can hear me, that the wind can break
my mind down to pieces. What I mean is a lie.
What I mean is new. What I mean is so naked
I can’t even open my fat mouth to breathe.
Touch me. Turn me to the stars that won’t leave.