Ana

t h i r t e e n

t h i r t e e n

let's forsake our bodies and be free

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I'm thirteen when I want to be good enough for someone, and there she is again as I sit in homeroom, listening to the football team's workout routine like it's the word of God.

I want him to want to know me like I want to know her. I want to be strong, and fast, and better. I want to be good enough.

This time, she smiles at me, leans forward and touches my shoulder and whispers, "You can."

And I believe her.

She shows me adrenaline. Pounding feet on pavement. The rush of air as it passes by because I'm passing it. Burning lungs. We fly through the streets together. We can go anywhere on our own two feet.

I'm thirteen when a teacher tells me what it means to be healthy—perfect, even numbers and limits and cardio. And there she is again, catching my eye from across the classroom, because we're good at running but we never learned the other things. It's not enough. So I lean forward and cling to the rules. Less is more.

And I don't need to be good enough for him anymore, only her.