I’m going to smear my mascara down your cheek
And forget to correct my lipstick.
I might speak too long and too hard and too much.
No, I might. I will.
I’m going to wear my glasses so you can see my scars and sleep with the light on.
I’m going to pull it back…the curtain, the mask, the nightgown, my hair, –the veil and I wonder where you’ll run to.
I’m going to scream too loud and without warning and without intent and not going to tell you why.
I’m going to run.
I’m going to push.
And ask and ask and ask.
I’m going to cry.
And my cheeks are going to streak and my eyes are going to crinkle and my soul is going to spill…
And my legs will not be shaved and my soul will not be clean and my breath will not be crisp and my wingspan will be shallow…my voice will rasp.
And I wonder w h a t you will see.
W h a t
Will you try to mend my stockings?
Quiet my howl?
Console my shiver?
Or w i l l you just breathe.
W i l l you breathe?