polyethylene that bunched
around her thighs holding in
the ***** that pooled as
a riptide. She cried. But none
came as she soiled, to hold her
and dry the oiled dew that fell
from morning till noon.

She wore
her hair short
as the boys. She didn't like
the look. Even then she dreamed of
looking like a girl. No ribbons or bows –
just wash and go.

She wore
her welts underneath
the second-hand pants
with a belt. None to see
the scars that bleed.

She wore
her name on plastic
pinned to her navy jumper. She bowed
her head in shame as the kids taunted
her again and again. Thin as the pencil
she carried. But she couldn’t erase
the secrets she buried.

She wore
a gown of snow white
lace. And chased a dream
of green lawns and picket
fences, white knights. But
lost her senses.

She wore
black velvet
at his funeral. First ever
the voices stood still. Now
his torment lay in a box that
covered the stain. But the pain
billowed in the air –
from then on
it’s what she'd wear.