Shower Thoughts by Olivia McCann

I get into the shower

belly distended 

with shots of pink and blue liquors

and I am Pink Whitney hypnotized.

The silver washes off my skin,

an echo of a chubby tin woman

stuck into a corset, painted for the party.

The pigment washes down my shoulders

back and breasts 

liquid metal over meat

over nipples which go soft

underneath the hot water.

My scars peek through

like parenthesis around my belly button

and I close my eyes.

I hate the biology of an arbitrary matching of 

food and bulk,

the obnoxious concept of conservation of mass.

Hate that collagen seems to be in short supply for me.

Hate that I keep on growing.

But the shower feels rich

feels like a meal,

It’s hot and wet and safe and I stay in for forty-five minutes.

The steam thickens under the pink light

and I think I am a peach

juicy and lovely,

ripened by the sun

and even the most incredible man would

be lucky to take a bite.

Image and words by Olivia McCann, follow her Instagram here and check out her website here.