naivete has always played a funny roleshifting from blessing to curse, for the better or for the worseexisting on her own selfish terms
I once dreamt that there were nails in my forearms,
moribund,
I’m just like what one of the Bronte’s said –
I never wanted to write bitterly about you.
the shoulders are the dampest,
“If you’ll make me up, I’ll make you.” — Virginia Woolf
got into my seat, took on the highs and lows
the same way that we all go
you drink from your tall glasses, a toast to lives you barely touched.
when you agonized over bed sheets and bedpans,
I always walk into social settings not knowing the right way to smile.