i look at myself in the mirror and i am very sure that i see a
more set jaw than i used to
more frightened eyes
more clenched shoulders
more fidgeting fingers.

(i think it's the stress.)


I won't be home this weekend.


my wrists are quivering. i run my fingers through my bangs, but it is not the same.


i look at myself in the mirror, and i cannot hold my gaze.

i feel certain that the reason he will not come back is
i have stood up for myself.
but i think that history has shown me
that standing up for myself is really just an excellent way
to get knocked down.

(i think it's the shame.)


Mommy is not going to yell anymore.


my shoulders are bunching up towards my neck. they hold my tension even when i sleep.



i look at myself in the mirror and i find myself wanting to break it.

i am afraid that if i peel back the layers of reflective glass
i will find a shell of a human being--
not the kind you collect on the sea shore,
but the kind that a tarantula leaves behind when it sheds its skin.

(the dead kind.)


You have to eat.


i am sneaking out of myself and i am afraid that others will see it,
or worse, they will not notice,
and nothing will change when i am gone.