devour the garden and the sunshine and the rain, too, with open-armed and tight- jawed glory. my mirror is cracked more each time i look into it; my mirror is slithering, silver liquid pouring down my throat, thorny bird of paradise curled across my shoulders. your shoes don’t fit me right. your scene isn’t mine and i don’t have a scene anymore and sometimes i regret it. is the self-assured smugness worth its weight in gold? am i better now that i’ve stripped myself of bracelets and ink and leather? or i have i sacrificed the essential for the sake of your comfort, for you and your dignity, for the neighbors and their mouths? my mouth is inverted and my smile is crooked and my teeth aren’t quite together, but i’m tired of straightening myself out for you.