These windows covered in wild burlap sacks Everything gets close to being beautiful, and then it stops. He hangs out on the iron railing below I am a grey silhouette living between the screen and the glass He is pleading, pointing come out and play kitty-kitty, Come out. I am busy protecting my young in this bed, these windows. I do not move because at my core I am a ballerina with glittery wings and I tend to my scars like an art-form These whitewashed walls hypnotize, I am thinking pretty thoughts now. I have given birth to a ball of clay, shot straight from my uterus-- yellow pills, blue pills yellow pills blue I press my face against the rusty screen and tell him I'm afraid I am afraid I am going to live.
Reason for writing:
The reason: "Prozac Nation" by Elizabeth Wurtzel
Birth sign: Not entered
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