Bodies by Clara O'Bannon (17, New York)

Only concrete lies between us, my body, your body
Separated by almost nothing, similar lives, but your body

Aches. Aches for a deep, lush, barbaric taste, of less.
Jolly red, sated skin leaves, unfolds, twists, and breaks. Your body

Rises too early. Retires too late. Or it doesn’t sleep at all.
Cooks for us, but not for you. For you don’t think you deserve it. Your body

Brought us crooked, battered, orange leaf love. Your body
Is no longer yours. You are its, it hammers you

Forcing protein pancakes, eggs with pancakes, chocolate on pancakes down our throats
Wishing, wishing it was you. Now my body cannot see your body

So my body brought you to be seen by Mrs. Cate
And then you lied to Mrs. Cate. And your mother, and then mine. Your body,

It lied to you. It said you’re fine, but really
You need something other than that green escape, or worse. Your body

Needs real air, not minty, not raspberry. Needs gasoline, batteries, even allergies
Your body needs control. Because your parents are fighting. Your body

Lost its soul. So I, Clara, stopped loving you.
Your body.