grapefruit by Krystal Gibson

been afraid of my body
as long as I can remember
10 years old
comforted by the glow of the tv screen
2 am on a school night
my mother’s voice telling me to rest
she never understood the demand to peel back your skin
like fruit
to check the soft center for signs of rotting
I am 16 before I have a name for this aching
in my chest
this persistent hum in my blood
a man in a white coat
puts the word in my mouth
like an excuse, like an answer
to a question I’ve been asking my whole life
I dry swallow all the days
spent lying on the floor
trying to breathe
I get tired
of carrying my body around
like dead weight
of trying to bury the bad parts
each morning
the sky breaks open
raw and pink as grapefruit
without its skin

Krystal Gibson is currently a college student living in central Indiana. She is eager to learn, listen and to see the world as much as possible.