New Year Poem

Before losing my old body,I sit in the middle of two yearsand dwell on all the shapes I am-the roundness of these eyesmy river hairthese honey-thick thighsI rake my fingers through my ribsand pull out resolutions so worn outthey break in my hands:(i) Remember to breathe(ii) Find joy and keep it alive(iii) Be loveMy favorite word is hope. I've learnt tosculpt it against my chest. There is alwaysa wave that makes you question the planting of your feet.I am the storm. Make an anchor out of my spine and watch me break my own back.The way a man touches me is the way I find the truth.Come too hungry and I know I won't be good enough.If I disappear in your mouth, will you say you're too full of meor will you say I've taken up every space that makes you a man.How my waist alone can hold you.The hope in me is like my mother's voice; it tremblesbut still sings. The wildest of truths is that the years (always)split me open like a fruit. I never eat. I watch men pick out the seeds,talk about the ripeness of my being. I watch one man patch me upevery night, calling me perfect every time.A new year clings to me like a heavy promise. The base of my throatis a swollen place without words and I speak with the emptinessI admit I did not remember to breathe. I untangled the knotsin my lungs and crashed them with my fist. I inhaled butit was all a distant dream. I've only been held together by the rising of the sun.I admit I did not find joy because my body refuses to be a map.Because my body refuses to be a path. Because what my bodywill never know is that happiness is clipped at the edges of this heartand all I have to do is touchBut for love, I carried it well. And now if I look in the mirror,I won't be able to tell if it's my eyes that's dancing or my body,if it's my mouth that's singing or my life itself. And those of youwho only know how to carve the shape of hunger, you must knowI can make my body want itself