By Sophia
Larimore
Student Writing
Awards, second place, poetry category
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Cells
regenerate every 7 years
Every 7 years
you gain a new body
So let me shed
my skin cells and once again become soft to the touch
Shiny, new, and
pure
Cells
regenerate every 7 years
So wrap your
arms around my body without fear of my scar spines and comfort me while I weep
over my old, dead skin
Let me gain
this new body that no longer is too ragged to embrace others and let them
Embrace me
Cells
regenerate every 7 years
So let my love
hold me close without fear of being impaled
Or without fear
of penetrating and cracking
Hardened skin,
now soft enough to trust others, would fall, be caught, and not break their
bones
Cells
regenerate every 7 years
After those
years pass let me look at my breasts without shivering at the sight of Daggers
sharp enough to cut through skin
Let me look at
my ass without vomiting up the
Acid in my
guts, melting through my wooden floor
Instead, let my
breasts be tender and soft
Let them be
something to celebrate and make a toast to with a White Russian in hand Let my
ass be a pillow for my tired eyes to rest upon
And instead of
creating acid, stir up my guts to create a sweet cream
A new body is
made every 7 years
So let my body
forget the touch of those hands that molded my body
Cayden, Liam,
somehow another Caden, and Charlie
About the Author
Sophia Larimore is a journalism major at Illinois Central College who writes about anything that sticks in their brain. From love and queerness to feelings of despair and trauma, Sophia covers everything. When they're not writing, they're busy tending to their plants or playing video games. They hope to one day publish both a horror story and a collection of poetry, drawing inspiration from creators like Andrew Joseph White, Andrea Gibson, Will Wood, and Dazey and the Scouts.