to You--


if You look out onto that manhattan skyline

and You imagined that You

You were God,


His finger across the buildings, then You

might know how it feels like when i run my hands down my

ribs and spine


and lately, i’ve been feeling happy,

and for once it feels like i fell out of a bad dream,

but i’m not sure how true this is--

don’t blame me. i know i should be relieved but

i’m scared of things that i’m not used to--

just like anyone else


but as i look in the mirror, whoever i see back

She warps

warbling and distorting like dew dripping into

the pearly pool of motor oil

She changes everyday, as fleeting as a


smile to a high-school acquaintance in a crowded train


Half the time i can’t recognize Her anymore


and maybe, i’ve been thinking

that perhaps i take myself too seriously

-- hell, isn’t that what poets do?

but then i remind myself that i’m a


and it would be


if a Girl didn’t feel this way.

if i didn’t feel that

the body i lived in was not mine

the house i resided in was estranged

the city forgot me in new year’s snow

the world turned without me turning with it


i would not be a Girl at all.





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