citrusine
today i am so delectably
un-pretty that i think i might laugh
if i saw my own makeup beside the sink.
that itch of body: tautness wrapped in tautness wrapped in plastic.
so delectably un-pretty,
this symbol of me
my mystery
my manufacturing,
belying the citrus skin of me
riddled with cloves:
because what i’m really talking about
is all this noise my body has goaded into shape.
i’ll explode into baggy jeans
and oversized hoodies
to advertise that i
i am glitching until i repeat my own words
and stumble upon the barbie doll of me
eyelashed and plasticene.
i’ll regress to baby dolls
to a citrus seed growing in a citrus womb still skinless and infantile
to breathing
and eating this naked citrus of me
until it is full with its own mystery
and i re-birth myself until i am baby minus doll,
free of plastic and orange peels again.
Zadie McGrath is a student writer from San Francisco. Their work has appeared in Paperbark, Apprentice Writer, and Nightjar Magazine, and they are currently working on a novel. In their free time, they enjoy practicing martial arts and reading science fiction.