I’m a little different than you’re used to

I’m the skinny little girl trying to fill baggy hand-me-downs

holding hands without benefits —

understanding my affect


I still dream of floating under a drawn bath,

watching the shimmer of candles through the dark.

The lights are off and I hear a different voice —

Not yours —

a stranger’s.


I’ll sit and stare and count my surroundings

sense by sense

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 –

bundled in a soft robe not unlike the one

Moma bought me last year, but definitely not my own.

And I get drawn in by weak arms —

Not yours —

a stranger’s.


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