Poem with a girl almost 15
Only the beginning...
a girl doesn’t know who she is—her world is outside the body—she writes her name over & over again in her diary—locks it away & hides the tiny gold key in her doll’s puckered mouth—the doll sits propped up in the center of her bed rests on pink chenille covered pillows one eye frozen in a wink—the doll is her best friend & shares her name
a girl's not afraid of what’s outside—she fears the interior—she feels a constant buzzing that raises the hair on her own skin—if she touches anyone she believes the buzz will shock & mark the other with a burn like a lightning bolt—
no one will break in to who the girl really is—if they did they would die from the ugliness—she stuffs that ugliness down deep using huge mouthfuls of cake—the beauty of cake the magic of cake the sickness of cake fills her
a girl and a doll runaway one summer day & take refuge in the hay loft b/c she thinks she’s dying—discovers she can’t die from maturing—a girl discovers she naturally bleeds—discovers she can’t run from a future rising—the beauty of blood the magic of blood the sickness of blood marks her