Weigh something

When the trauma begins, your breath begins too

running from your body in fits and starts

an almost inaudible reminder

of your fear


And then the trauma stops

But your breath forgets

that it too can stop, can start again

can normalize


It is when you stand

in the silence of the woods


You feel it



The weight returning to your legs

A knowing in your flesh

that you take up space

A very small space

In the vastness of the beautiful world

And an important space too


In your small, weighted stillness

You realize your power

finite, imperfect, and precious

And the grace that keeps you alive


Perhaps this is why it was so hard for me

to choose to eat

As if in weightlessness

I could remind the world

of my transience


Maybe I wanted

to say

how small I was

And how big and meaningless

how unbounded and unsafe I felt


Then I wanted you to know

that I didn’t matter enough

to be weighted

but now you should know too

that I do

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