walking around in an adult's body pained
from men and women that were put on
this earth to protect me, at the least respect
me. Black and blues fade. Scabs grow over

cuts with new skin. But the scars hid inside are
as stars in the night sky. None can see the monstrosity
of their size with only naked eyes. The growth that is
measured at school in feet and test scores ignores

the pygmies of a rose in a ****** glove. None count
the teardrops or sleepless nights, holding onto goose
feathers stuffed in a pillow. Head hung down as a weeping
willow. They'll fit you for a bra. But not fit you in their

hearts. They'll make plans for you. But you can't
plan on them. They look at you as a music box that shuts off
off when they close the lid. Then the little ballerina stops
dancing on her pole.