Where You Leave Yourself

i wanted to write

me

from the inside

out

from my mother’s

smooth hips

to the roof of my mouth

But at what age

can one scrawl

her own existence?

 

i thought i should wait

until i was full

of all the skies

or something deeper

My blood

not yet rich enough

for art

for

art-ic-u-la-tion

— Beatrice Hollow

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