I will start the peel for you. The skin is raw but well kept, it comes off slowly in stutters:
Tch.
Tch.
Like unbuttoning a shirt. Run your coarse hands along the smooth surface as it inches off of me.
Use those gentle hands and pry open my chest. I’ll hold a towel to keep myself clean as you go.

Hum to me in the lowest voice as I grow bare underneath the unforgiving, judgmental glow of the moonlight. Hide the sound as you rummage through my insides, and I will watch your shadow move on the floor.

Find my worth inside of me while I am ripe for the taking. Gushing red and coming undone, you harvest what you want. Kindly, you offer to sew me back up. I decline, and you do not insist again. You pack up your bag of bones as I listen to my hollow insides.

From my cracked bedroom window, I watch you leave. You do not turn back, and you never return. I will forget you in time. I notice once I look away that my nail polish has chipped, so as the sunrise finds me, I paint my nails in silence, save for the echoes of my womanhood.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rinoa is a senior at Kent State University at Stark, majoring in English with a dual minor in Creative Writing and Women's Studies. She enjoys reading, writing, and art. When she isn't working, she is at home working on something new.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR