I was trying on a dress,

Making sure my body looked like

The idea of my body

In the small, unbearable mirror.

In an instant our sights met;

A man, lurking in the shadows,

Owning my form.

​

That was the first time.

Later I would learn to identify,

Sometimes in a passing

demonstration of wit,

Sometimes in a violent expression

Of fear:

Men, lurking in the shadows,

Owning my form.

​

Though I bore an alienating shield

Of ostent rebellion, spurred by anxiety,

My heavy heart still felt the burden.

I rejected weakness, repulsed tenderness,

For I had seen what was

Lurking behind the romanticism,

Hidden, in the shadows,

Eager to own my form.

​

Mea culpa.

​

By whatever means,

The insatiable longing for affection

Demanded to be felt.

From the corner of my eye I saw

Inside the mouth of the smiling Wolf,

Whose coldness I perceived

As the naked soul

Also longing.

​

Mea maxima culpa.

​

I found not a soul,

But the way for my heavy heart

To finally give up and burst.

From the corner of my eye I saw

A faint memory of a touch.

Before I realized,

My heart, now light,

Had found its way back to my chest.

​