1. Hands in front of you, sway hips x2.
A woman with parts of her stomach
injected into her ass is teaching us how
to dance.
2. Draw heart on chest.
She doesn’t ask us to adore her,
she doesn’t
have to.
3. Tap each wrist x4.
I’ve lost
whole years of my life watching
immaculate and false women
on loop.
4. Hand around head.
Oh—
the special burden
of my unfiltered face.
5. Swipe hand along mouth.
How
the digital veil covers
me
in stars and sepia.
6. Snap neck and pose.
Photog elixir to shrink my nose,
widen my eyes.
7. Spin to left.
I suppose I could be a gorgeous
blur
in their algorithm, yet—
8. Roll arms, put one arm out.
lately,
I find myself reaching for something more.
9. Cross arms on chest, uncross.
An inkling of love kindled for my precious,
lopsided self;
10. Make an L shape with both hands and glide x2.
always, almost lost
off another
high cliff
cheekbone mirage,
11. Roll arms to left, roll arms to right.
but not lost.
An unsteady, steady,
a wavering, un wavering
of acceptance.
12. Repeat.
The stomach-assed woman finishes
her dance
and starts from the top. Then again
and again and—
at some point, I stop paying attention.
Angelica is a writer living in Durham, NC with published work in Westwind Poetry, Mantis, Air/Light Magazine and the Laurel Review, among others. She is the author of the chapbook, The World Is Ending, Say Something That Will Last (Bottle Cap Press, 2022). Besides being a devastated poet, Angelica is a Marketing Content Writer for a green energy loan company and a volunteer reader with Autumn House Press. You can find more of her work on Instagram at a.w.ords.