The Confessional.


I am the cul-de-sac and the grass on the other side,
a pale yellow room, with wild things in frames
and the door kept shut.

I am brown hair, brown eyes, 5’8 or 5’9, 
but never normal enough.
The homemade strawberry ice cream cone,
constantly turned to keep from dripping

I am the family that makes the Brady Bunch look broken, 
with cracks left untouched, 
mink wraps tossed to little girls for dress-up,
along with the mantra “don’t mess up, 
don’t mess up-“

I am the homecoming queen in a borrowed dress.

I am the girl that loves the ocean, 
the sea, 
that goes farther than you can see,
to where the sky shifts,
blue gray gold red

I am the empty starry nights,
full of distant lights
that weigh heavy on my shoulders as I get older
and older.

The honeysuckle,
climbing rust in the dark,
taking heart
always searching for something caught
behind the horizon
between the bindings
never finding,
never finding.


I am the tangled sheets
and the guilty Sunday mornings.


I am the coin, 
tossed tipping two faced
with groaning metal in-between
always having to shine
having to hide
to decide.

I am the fence, sagging under the weight of vines.

I am the girl with face and fate
that have never quite


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