I am not becoming
not becoming anything other than myself,
My post pubescent body is sprayed with dark public hair in the crotch area
like quiet shadows,
And my underarms have little eyelashes,
And the flesh on my thighs has hair-line fractures
from every boy who’s touched the top of my legs,
and my knickers, frilly pink barricades,
soaked,
My wet revolution
pouring like tears