The skin that stretches over her cheek
also
stretches over her hips and knees
But she covers it all in light denim jeans and a loose t-shirt
covering all the nerve endings of her skin so
no one
sees the goose flesh creep across her chest
at the mention of the word.
A word that would cause any machine to tremble with fear
but she fears it, too.
She too, is a machine.
Her fingers work through the knots in her hair quite efficiently
Her knees and elbows are abled joints
She does not tell her heart to beat, but it does so with a rhythm
filling each tiny, twisting vein
that trail like lace throughout her entire body.
And so she sits there, in her clothing, hoping no one says the word
but she hasn’t even realized, she’s already begun to rust.