It's my choice to be beautiful. It's my choice to be ugly. And it's my choice to decided what those words actually mean.
You look within and upon and around me, savoring every inch. You pull my ear for no reason, and I can tell you really don’t want to cry. As a tear falls between by breasts, I look away and pretend the grass is a jungle, and the ants, little kings of forgotten tribes.
You crawled inside my
ribs to die.
Giant becomes squirrel
becomes a dirt-wet girl
feverishly alive.
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