1, 2, 3, 4
count the ridges my thumb brushes over
as it runs over the hills of my bony knuckles
tanned and rough
"these are mine"
stress the mine
as the mantra parades
through my head
it does not click
i am still floating
far away from this fleshy costume
i pick up the strings
of the puppet that is supposed to be me
and walk out the door