Power Pose, Unpowerful

In the mirror. Right before you leave. It’ll help, I swear.


My elbows slice the air like a bird diving from the nest. The shape of my mother’s ring crossing my board of a figure.




Finger pads squish into the plush skin surrounding my hips.

Squeeze. In, out.

Skin-shelled padding ripples under the command.


The cotton squints underneath my pressure, the slick sweat diving into the fabric pulls.

Too-tight trousers wrap my towering legs.

Salt-stained rims lay flat against sand-color skin. Prickled.


Elbow up, elbow up. Stand still, smile. And…


Flop. Arms waterfall from into a soft mold against my pear sides.

Rope and tassels frame my face in my duct-taped mirror, dangling a dare to

each of my lingering stares.


Hollowed out eyes sing to my never-ending monologue in my head.


Mirror, mirror on the wall.

This pose doesn’t fix the imposter inside at all.




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