Arrival


Upon my arrival, I whisper-walked
Erasing my steps like a broom
I avoided bottlenecks and having my back to the door


Soft voices and sweet
Made me cringe
So did people who had no smell.


What was I,  they wanted to know,
Such a delicate and precariously balanced thing,
Doing at the Crossroads?  


Even the smallest and most inconsequential among us,
Could knock you apart
with a soft, experimental tap.  


I’m sure that when they were children
They broke all their toys.
And I’m a living doll.


Perhaps I should, but I don’t want
To creak open the hinges of their faces.
There are things worse than skulls and brains.


Such as humorless laughter.
Indifference. Intentions.
And voids.


What you must realize,
What you need to comprehend.
Is that.

At times like this,
A girl would give anything
To be ugly.

Once you told me that I was like an Ice queen.
When I pointed out to you
that ice queens were usually blonde
you said, "Okay then. You look like a wax doll.
The kind your mother puts up on a shelf in your room
and tells you not to touch. One that stares out at you,
with imperious, unsentimental eyes
and an air of unpredictability.
One that you take down off of the shelf
when your mom isn't home
and hide in the basement in the back of a closet
and have nightmares about.
Is that better?"
It was.