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.