Wake me when the star jasmines bloom
and the turtledoves no longer hide in their leaves,
when I no longer find bleeding lines on my skin beautiful
and the empty rumbling in my stomach is no longer music.
Wake me when a size 12
clinging to curves is
when it is delicious
that the muscular thoughts inside our skulls
determine who we are
instead of the length of our hair,
the width of our waist,
the height of our beauty.
Wake me when every bite that enters our lips
does not drown us in guilt,
when I can stay afloat and keep it in my stomach,
when I can eat it at all,
and when my ribs are not precious coins to count.
Wake me when the men cover themselves
if we must cover our beautiful bodies
like curtains on stained glass windows
to deter temptation.
Wake me when equality smells sweet,
when the star jasmines are in bloom
and the sap bleeds white and gooey from the stems.
Wake me when my body is mine,
but until then
let me sleep.
Taylor-Jayne Wilkshire (Queensland)