if the world had their way they’d rip out my waist and stitch the remnants to my chest and my thighs until the flesh left holding me together was only as wide as the inner diameter of a boy’s hand, and they’d leave my
stomach on the cutting room floor because the pretty ones don’t need to eat. if i tried to stand up i’d flop over like the clothes he ripped off my body before a ‘no’ could leave the lips they turned into roses, so sweet but i know if i speak nothing will be left but thorns and blood- camouflaged, because the only red they see is the petals. if i looked in the mirror it’d take a knife to my face like a cake it needed flat-iced, my skin would end up in the sink like a bad frosting job and they’d give me a new layer of buttercream for the boys to lick off and complain it was salty because they couldn’t see my tears past the sugar. if the world had their way the plumber would be here tomorrow to replace my showerheads with bleach and i’d sizzle on the floor of the tub until my hair went yellow and curled in on itself with a fear they deemed pretty, until my eyes went blue because the bathroom tiles bled from the chemicals and clawed their way into my sockets, until my skin turned the pale shade of his bedsheets, and the boys could pretend they never saw me shake my head.
An Nguyen has been a budding author since the day she picked up a pen. She dabbles in both poetry and prose, with a deep love for both, and actively seeks to write about both personal and widely relatable topics. She is determined to use her voice to help others feel seen.
She lives in the greater Houston area of Texas.