I miss tipsy free

I miss tipsy free: the free that counters

gravity; vibrations throughout otherwise

numb skeletons mistaken for bodies.

I miss tipsy free;

the girl who didn’t worry about calories;

the girl who ate Messes in Diner B;

the girl who didn’t fear digestion.

now, I’m the girl who bore a hole

in her stomach from not eating because

the words and thoughts that consume me

disgust me. I truly miss tipsy free.

I miss dancing inside and around the beat;

feeling the heat from my cheeks stomp

around on concrete and into surfaces

that would never truly hear me, but I stomped

anyway. because shouting out loud was better

than letting my voice erode the insides of me.

it was better to let it out coarse and tipsy

than hearty and hungry; starving and sober;

bold and alone. it was better to commune

the addictions in socially acceptable places—

even when I had to be carted limb by limb

to a dorm which wasn’t mine because I

had surpassed being tipsy and got too free.