pressed strawberries into my skin
to have a permanent bite of a younger me
who plucked sweetness from vines under coastal suns
and wore freckles far from faded —
still hot from the burn that drew them

poked asymmetry into my face
dressed it in tiny, shiny silver spheres
like ornaments on a christmas tree mid-january
a sharp contrast to the dying pine that no ones thrown out yet
that no longer carries the same cheery scent

painted orange through these tangled locks
to revive a youth with shortcake hair and not a single qualm
before it all faded to ***** blonde
the cheap dye smelled like nostalgia:
grape otter pops at waterparks in summers

put on colors with turned up saturation
a palette like that one july — before he drained the flush in my cheeks
and made rainbows look like oz before technicolor
all grayscale and dull when i was promised magic
and music and marvel and memories — the good kind

peered at the lightning bolts on my hips and thighs
that i know i should appreciate — how they’re a symbol for growth
how they’re like little paths that lead to a better me
but i can’t help but hate the way they remind me of earthquake aftermath
no one likes to think about that or see that

played around with pretty eyes
needed something to cover what’s broken behind mine
but he couldn't find any value
in trading his clear blue ponds for these sunken
deep polluted seas

so i

pulled what little i had left in me
and put it on my callous skin
salvaged an old scrapbook full of visions
and said i’d turn them into deja vu
a shapeshifter that shook those who followed along

rewriting everything that was wrong