Starmoth Press

you could say

hi pretty girl

and i would look for who

you’re speaking to

certainly not this rib cage

playing the song of

hollow bones

buried

too much flesh

bulging

fabric too tight

all wrong

she’ll tell herself

i’m  all wrong

w a i t

for words of kindness

they do not come until

aged hands from

older me

grasp my tiny fingers

whispers triumphantly

“you are not all wrong

you are everything

you are wonderful

wonderful”