i exist
as three personas
buying fast-fashion with money
that i will never have.
five pumps of perfume
coat my paper-thin flesh -
that smells the way sunshine feels.
gold coconut coated ringlets
bounce
from my pointed collar bones
- perfectly.

tomorrow i will thrift second-hand things.
the makeup of another stained
on the lips of old t-shirts
and i’ll adorn
rusted, gold-plated rings.
i won’t wash my hair,
and i’ll swim in the river
like free emily -
beautiful and brave.
and i’ll read ‘monkey grip’
for the eighth time
- shamelessly.

at night i’m in europe,
alone in a small, sea-side village
called a name that i will never pronounce.
i’ll wear hand-made sundresses
and lay bare-breasted on rooftops.
i don’t speak their language,
but they probably speak mine
- effortlessly.