Trying to make new fingerprints
with superglue and leaves
because being the fleshy schoolgirl
has gotten old
and I want to be a tree,
holding my ground,
giving sway only to a breeze
instead of anyone’s idea of taboos.

I remember when I was as thin as a sapling
and sick all the time,
balancing terrors of home
with allure of the outside world.
Staring out the window at trees
became my religion.
I can’t peel away those awful moments
so I thicken and age and sway anyway.

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