Postcard girl

Why be a poster girl when you can be a postcard girl,

A postage stamp— girl,

How small can you get before you’re nothing at all?

Don’t you want that?

Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be two-dimensional?

So why are you not shrinking.

God, girl, every wrinkle around your eyes has cradled an ocean of tears,

Deep in a world that demands that you are shallow.

You could write sonnets in the gap between your front teeth,

Loud in a world that begs you to be silent.

The folds of your stomach

Hold every battle cry and butterfly-

What’s it like, girl,

To take up

That

Much

Space?