with skin of ivory
that blushes at the sight of sun
even when the clouds are out,
i turn into a silly shade of pink
          with a heart that drops
falls down, down, down
into a rabbit hole
at the sight of anything
remotely shattering,
gasping at little cracks on the sidewalk
carefully tiptoeing around bumblebees
          with lungs that fill with cotton
in fear of a hansel and gretel gingerbread house;
lead me to the witch
where i will cry and wonder,
“how did i get here?”
and forget about
all the gumdrops in my stomach
          with poise that only lasts seconds
in the face of spiders,
they crawl into my mouth
kept there until given the chance to spit
them back into your face
          i will hold my breath
and picture fields of lavender
where a tanned girl spins carelessly
until my tissue-paper limbs
learn how to hold me up