Dariana Guerrero
If I want you to touch me, I’ll let you know. You
will never. Be confused by the sigh of my breath
or the shape my palm makes when it aches for
comfort. In the loneliness emanating from the
blue screen, you think it is sexy for me to know
what your dick looks like. You think it is
necessary for me to know what your dick looks
like. You want me to know that you like Big
Beautiful Women, Big Bodied Women, Bold
Brave Women and then I know I do not want you
to touch me. I am convinced that the touch you
are looking for would isolate me further from
myself. Memorable touch: In 2nd grade my
teacher made me stick the tips of my toes against a
brick wall. In 4th grade when Angel spit on the
back of my leg. In 6th grade I bled through
sweats and trailed red through the art room. In 8th
grade my knuckles turned a mustard yellow after
kicking Angel’s ass. You will never be confused
by the power of your own body. More softness,
please. I remember what fulfilling touch means,
whether coming from another or myself—the
body feels whole. It feels seen. 24, a
tear-inducing embrace. 24, does that feel good?
24, discovering the lump, early. 24, knowing
now.
About the Author
Dariana D. Guerrero currently teaches English at the secondary level in Massachusetts. She graduated with a B.A. in English Language and Literature from Smith College in 2017 and is pursuing her M.A. in English Literature at the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College. Dariana has been published in a variety of national and internationally recognized literary magazines and journals such as Glass: A Journal of Poetry and Women: A Cultural Review. Dariana calls Lawrence, Massachusetts home.