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.