I was seventeen when they finally
found me walking barefoot into the ocean.
Hypnotic; with too much make-up and
not enough clothing, I
became the girl who forgot
the sound of her own voice.
I gave the fortuneteller forty truths
just to hear that we're all made of
stardust. Unrelenting, my heart
is a thing I wrote out on your skin,
One night, with chaste kisses,
while the future spoke to me in
broken synonyms--
I was far too young when
I heard you find the fictional
part of my affections.