I count the inches between us with careful precision
to make sure we never touch.
I am afraid to know what would happen
if our knees were to accidently knock
so I make sure to drink slower than you
and count the space between us
because I am a carpenter today,
and I had a long day at work.
I spent my shift building a new person
out of the wrecking ball rubble
that is now splayed out everywhere
because I chose to accept myself.
In the morning I wrapped the feminine
pieces of me in tattered sections
of the old pattern skirts
I bought to trick myself into thinking
I wanted to be comforted by a man
whose calloused hands could only pretend
to have as many stories as my creaking knuckles
and returned them to sender
with a strongly worded letter
because I am a carpenter and I know
that the foundation they created
was too unstable to support anything.
The company that sent out the parts
had told me that there was
nothing faulty with their product,
but I had told them that
I am not an accident,
I am a piece of art,
and I deserve to be strong,
so I am making sure they
pay more attention
to their next order.
There are 5 point 3 inches
between our shoulders.
In the afternoon,
I collected all the bars that
once protected the windows to my soul
and crafted them into a playpen
for the child inside me.
I painted them the colours
of rainstorms and my eyes
and the shades of lipstick you’ve worn.
I think he’s going to like it a lot,
and is going to be a lot less scared
to know that having a comfort zone
doesn't mean your body has to be
a prison camp.
Our hands our 12 inches apart.
At night is when I performed the majority of the construction.
I took my entire collection of strengths
and patch-worked the pieces into something new.
The ability to tie bow ties laid the foundation,
tiled with button-up shirts, binders, and sports bras
caulked with coffee and poetry
and decorated with a mosaic of 4 AMs with friends
who have spent the last year calling me handsome instead of beautiful,
furnished with eyeliner, lipstick, glitter, and snakeskin boots.
The way my pain has become my art
and the dances my heart has done
every time somebody has said they understand
carved out the doorway
and finally I was
a finished product.
Our feet are 2.3 inches apart
and I adjust so they are
6.5.
I am a carpenter
and I was up all night
building my body into a home
and I am too tired to be able to judge
if you’d be okay with
me sharpening the dull curve
of my jaw with needles and time
into something so sharp and lethal
people wouldn't dare to question me
lest I press it up against theirs
and ask them why
it’s their problem anyway.
I am a carpenter and my specialty
is my body, not your heart
so I make sure there are
14.6 inches between our feet,
13 inches between our hips,
6.5 inches between our chests,
18.2 inches between our lips
and a lifetime between our could have beens
so I don’t have to ask you
if what’s comfortable for you
will line up with what’s comfortable for me,
because I have been under construction
for too long
to reconsider
my rebuilding.
