I have swept a metaphorical replica of
My self into the corner of the room
Collected from dead skin cells and memorabilia that has
Since been donated to charitable organizations
A life size model made of everything that
I once called myself looking me directly
In the eyes with a sort of sad smirk like
The winner in a debate team who sees the
Futility of shouting words across rooms but
Wants to win nonetheless
I have collected myself
Put my self together and said these pieces no
Longer fit while picking off clumps of hair
Baby teeth with prayers attached to them
The vague tan I cultivated when I was ten
I’ve left fingernails in books
Heartache in dresses and poems in journals
Scattered amongst Goodwills across America
I breath heavy and blow myself down
The self is so fragile but
The essence is untamable

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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